It Gets Me Places
by Scrunchy
Summary: He really is just a boy... I know that this is all a mistake; that I'm going to regret letting the boy manipulate me even as I manipulate him, but I can't help it. There's something about him that just makes me want to humor him. To want to care. Sister story to My Spy. Can be read independently. Spy/Scout.
1. Chapter 1

**Edit: This is the rewritten version. It's a little less derpy than the first one.**

**Because you always wanted to know what this phrase really implies.**

**Disclaimer: Team Fortress 2 belongs to Valve and their catchy ability to make artful catch phrases...**

"But... but I don't want to be fuckin' gay!" Scout exclaims as I pull back from his lips with a smirk. My tongue slides across them slowly as I pick up the last traces of the boy on my tongue. He tastes like that horrible Bonk! that he guzzles mixed with bubble gum and something else that I can't identify. It's not unpleasant, though, and I lean forward to brush my lips against his own again. He doesn't jerk away, just stares at me when I pull back, looking confused and a little betrayed. By himself, I am sure, it is obvious that he never thought that this might happen, that he would end up in a secluded place on the map and kissing one of his teammates like a desperate little fool.

We both know that he can't honestly say that he isn't gay. It was he who brought on the kiss, asking for it with every action and word: the swagger, the infantile jabs at my heritage, his intense lack of respect for _espace, _and his aptitude for being loud, obnoxious and brash.

I snort, his hands are still gripping my mask, only minutes ago trying to pull me closer. They are no longer pulling, but they are not necessarily pushing either. He is holding me there, perhaps hesitating. He says he doesn't 'want to be gay', but I think that he doesn't really know what he wants.

The kiss wasn't just a kiss, it was an affirmation of his worst fears. Scout hated being different, he hated being younger than the rest of us, though he put on a front to make it seem like he didn't really care. Being gay was one of the worst possible revelations he could have.

The kiss had broken a barrier between us, one that existed solely to keep our mutual attraction out of the team's view. When it broke, it allowed all the lovely tension between us to shatter like a pane of glass beneath the velocity of one of his little baseball toys.

After several months of him provoking me, I decide that it is _my_ turn to provoke _him_. So, I snatch his ear piece without further ado and step back from the confused boy, smirking and sliding it on. I can smell the sweat on it; he runs around all day and is not the type to clean his headset every night. I don't mind, though, it is not an unpleasant scent.

"May I borrow your earpiece?" I ask the rhetorical question with a wide grin, my eyes daring him to do something about it. He begins walking toward me with a frown, seeming to accept my challenge and I take slow steps back to prolong the time that I am out of his reach.

"What're you-"

I flip the talk switch with a barely constrained chuckle, not even bothering to affect the delicious Bostonian accent that the boy bears as I speak into the microphone. "This is Scout! Rainbows make me cry!" I squeal, pouting at Scout and enjoying the look of rage on his face. His grey eyes are narrowed and his fists are clenched. I wink at him and smirk cockily.

He yells something unintelligible, the last meter between us disappearing and before I know what to think, he punches me. It is weak, not as strong as it would have been if he had actually meant it; if he didn't know I was "just fuckin' with him" as he would phrase it. My head is barely turned by the blow and I laugh, grabbing his wrist. His free hand retrieves his earpiece and his finger touches the switch, but finds it already on. He scowls at me and swipes his finger across his throat in the universal sign of '"cut it out," still clutching the piece of equipment.

He slips it back on and yells into the mic, "fuckin' Gay-Ass Spy stole my mic, guys, ignore that!" He flips the microphone back into non-receptiveness as I press the back of his hand against my masked cheek, aiming to embarrass him with the intimate contact.

"If you are not afraid of rainbows, _cher_..." I purr, pulling him closer to me and resting my arm around his waist. "Then _prove_ it."

The blush across his cheeks is adorable as he looks away from me, considering my order. It's funny because we both know that there's no thought to it; he's just being a little bitch. With a short huff of air that is so childish it makes me smile, the boy finally turns his face back to me and says, "be in my room after dinner then..." his blush deepens and I am almost leering as I reply.

"Until then, _mon cher_..." a gentle kiss to his blazing cheek and I cloak before taking my leave. 'I shall use that taunt more often,' I decide as I light up a cigarette with a smirk.

It gets me places.


	2. Chapter 2

**Continued on behalf of Becca-Blossom and Solo-chan.**

**Edit: Went through and edited this a bit. No content was changed, just the presentation, punctuation and grammar. Enjoy : )**

**(Also fixed that damned disappearing accent.)**

I am the first to disappear to my own room after dinner. As always, I am the first finished since I see no reason to take part in the crude conversations that make even Pyro's uninterpretable mumblings seem like first-class fare. I see Scout watching me and wink at him before leaving. I am sure that he will take his time in finishing; he doesn't know what to expect from me yet.

It wouldn't surprise me if he is nervous and intends to prolong his time to think- to wonder what will come.

I chuckle at the thought, imagining him blushing for me again. I begin planning what I will and won't do as I enter my room and sit myself at my desk to wait. How long the boy will take to finish eating, I do not know, but waiting in his room seems a bit too needy for my tastes. Walking into his room and not seeing or feeling me as he searches for my possibly cloaked figure would make him doubt that I had ever been sincere in my challenge. However, that can easily be nullified by my showing up at all. Therefore, I wait.

I wait for an hour, listening to the other members of my team returning to their rooms. I go through a few cigarettes as time passes and the latest one still smokes a bit, sitting on its crushed end in the ashtray on my desk.

At long last, his light footsteps can be heard down the hall and the cigarette that I am about to light falls back into my palm before I place it back in my cigarette case. With the ease of old practice, I cloak myself. It would not do for our teammates to see me walking to Scout's room at such a late hour while he is—as Americans put it- still in the closet.

I exit my own room and wait for him to disappear into his. As soon as the door closes, I start counting in my head as I pace slowly toward his door. I can picture him methodically combing his room for my cloaked form, his lovely grey eyes looking under his bed, in his closet and in the corners of his room. Fruitless attempts to see if I am there or not.

Once I stop in front of his door, a reasonable amount of time has passed for him to search the whole room. I can just see him sitting on the edge of his bed and thinking about what a fool he was for wanting to become involved with a man such as myself. I am, of course, the man that his mother would have warned him about had he been a woman. A soft curse from within alerts me that it is time to knock and let him know that I did not forget about our little 'meeting'. Scout peeks out as I uncloak, arms crossed casually.

"What the fuck d'you want, fa-" he cuts his insult off when he realizes that it's me. I can tell by the combination of relief and fear across his face that he is glad that I did not lead him on and yet he is still in denial about _why_ he is glad of that.

"Hm... should I return some other time?" I ask with a small smile and a quirk of my brow.

The suddenly apprehensive look on his face is exactly what I want from him. He shakes his head and turns around, leaving the door open for me to enter. I shut the door softly behind me and watch him walk nervously over to his bed, think better of sitting on it, and turn around to retrace half of the distance back to me.

"Uh... so... what exactly do fags do?" Scout asked finally, scratching his head and further messing up his hair.

"What do you think?" I ask with a short laugh, moving to perch on the edge of his bed with my legs crossed habitually.

"Uh... cross their legs when they sit down?" He snorts, moving to sit next to and mimic me. When he tries, however, he falls over sideways with a short whoop of surprise.

"That is more etiquette than faggotry," I answer with a bemused smirk. He grumbles something and my hand pulls him up gently by the shoulder to which he blushes with a small 'yeah, thanks.' Ah, that attitude will go over well in the bedroom. "How does a straight man sit, then?" I ask curiously, withdrawing my hand from around his back. I watch him attempt to try it again, smiling a little.

"Uh... like this, duh." He states, spreading his legs and planting his feet firmly before leaning forward on his elbows. "This is the 'I'm listenin' to ya' straight man sittin'." Scout explains before leaning back on his elbows, leaving his long, lean legs as they are and looking over at me with a small, cocky smirk as my gaze sweeps over him. "This is for relaxin'... or invitin' a girl..." Scout trails off with a blush, his cocky demeanor going out the window as soon as he realizes that he is talking to his potential lover. I personally have no intention of taking things so far on the 'first date,' so he need not worry.

I merely chuckle and shake my head. "Not on the first date, _petit_." I assure him, that cocky smirk now across my own lips as I move to mimic him. The position is quite comfortable and, though it messes up my suit, I stay in it. The boy's eyes are on me, after all, and I want him to get his fill and possibly find out what is so interesting to him.

My own shameless staring was simply because his physique is so beautiful. The lean torso muscles that his shirt pulls against and the belt around his impossibly slim hips leaves little of his shirtless form to my imagination. He probably has a few scars from his delinquent's life in Boston and I will bet good money that they contrast beautifully with the rest of his soft skin.

The boy seems to realize that he is staring and a soft blush tinges his cheeks before he looks away. I still have no clue what he was looking at, however.

"Hm... what were you looking at, _cher_?" I ask him innocently, my own eyes looking over my slouching body. Certainly, there will be wrinkles in my suit, but Scout is not one to care about such things.

"Nothin'... you're one to talk, stare-fag..." he combats quickly, as if I had accused him of being a Peeping Tom instead of watching me slouch back on the bed.

"Ah... do not be so harsh with me." I chide, frowning at his tone and turning onto my side with my head propped up on my palm and my elbow braced on the bed. Apparently, we are still having some admission issues. By 'we,' I mean Scout. "I was merely admiring the way that your shirt gives me a peek of flat stomach..." my fingers brush over the triangle of skin teasingly as I smile at him, innocent as ever. My own shirt is tucked in and would allow no such view for him. "... and the way that your shirt is pulled tight on your torso makes me slightly interested in getting it off." I smile, trace my fingers up his stomach and let them rest gently over his heart before my palm presses down on his chest. Throughout this session of teasing, his eyes are wide and his breath comes short. His face flushes a gentle shade of pink as he complies with my wishes and lowers himself back against the mattress.

My smile widens into a soft smirk as I move over him, taking it slow and letting him get used to being on the bottom; it is where he will be for the more intimate parts of our relationship. He seems to read this in my expression and his bandage wrapped hands suddenly come up to rest on my hips before rolling me onto my back.

"Fuck no; I ain't gonna be your bitch," he growls, scowling down at me with an expression that clearly says 'you fuckin' kiddin' me?'

"Ah... I was merely initiating a bit of intimacy, _cher_. I did not mean to give you the-" my witty half-lie is cut off by his lips and my mouth curls into a smirk.

It is inexperienced, something I did not notice in the heat of the first one we shared on the field. Ah, but for what it lacks in experience, the eagerness and that certain flavor of want is still there as he slips his tongue past my slack lips and quickly goads my own into action. While he has the upper hand in the tongue war that ensues between us, I am more experienced. My tongue quickly pins his into submission and the vibrating groan of defeat that bubbles forth from his throat is truly a delight to my senses. _This_ is why the mouth is one of the most sensitive places of the body, so that the noises that a lover makes are both felt _and_ heard. I chuckle as my tongue retreats from his and presses against his cheek obstinately when his tongue attempts to entice it into a rematch. My breaths are quick, short and nasal as we enjoy the other's taste and feel, but such methods cannot sustain me for forever and, after pinning his tongue to the bottom of his mouth for a second time, I push him back with a gentle hand on his chest and a soft gasp for lung-filling oxygen.

Those grey eyes are boring into me as I stare right back with my own piercing blue gaze. A string of saliva pops between us, the trail down both of our chins is ignored for the moment as we search the other for a hint at what is happening.

'Why are you here?' His gaze asks accusatorily as I raise a hand to loosen my tie and pop a button or two open so that my breathing is less restricted.

"I do not know..." I murmur in answer after a few seconds of watching those eyes watch mine. "Why did you ask me here?"

He seems startled, as if I have read his mind and that lovely scowl rolls across his face like a thunderhead. "Because I wanted to prove to you that I'm not fuckin' afraid of being gay." Scout growls with a frown. "If I've got an answer so do you," he prompted, finally wiping that mixture of our DNA from his chin with the back of his hand.

"Hm..." I muse on the question. Why _am_ I here? Certainly it is not because I have feelings for the child. Spies are not allowed to be caught up in things as trivial as feelings. Sex? Two words: James Bond. He set the standard for Spies everywhere whether we acknowledge it or not. Sex is fine, but feelings? I am afraid not, do not all of his lovers die in the end? It reads like a prophesy. Get close; get hurt.

"So that you could prove that you are not a homophobic twelve-year-old." I finally answer him and he draws back to sit up with a small, frustrated frown. It was (obviously) not the answer that he wanted.

"Mission accomplished." The boy above me quips in a harsh voice before slipping off of me. "You can leave now..." he mentions it like an afterthought and I feel a sliver of guilt pierce me.

"_Bonne nuit_, Scout," I bid him softly before crossing to the door and allowing it to shut softly behind me. It seems we are both officially in denial.


	3. Chapter 3

It is a week before Scout shows up at my door, scuffing his shoe and muttering about not having seen me for a while. I smile and open the door a bit more for him. The boy glances around the hall before ducking inside. I'm not entirely sure what he would do if someone was in the hall, to be honest. Perhaps he would yell at me and walk off toward his own room heatedly, or improvise some other reason for him to be standing before my room and knocking instead of barging in.

"So, this fag business makes it alright to kiss a guy and disappear for a week?" He asks, acting somewhat pouty as I close the door behind him.

"Ah... I thought that you would want some space... you seemed a bit unsure of yourself after our la-"

"Dude, just shut up." Scout snorts and rolls his eyes. "That was a 'yes' or 'no' question." He clarifies before moving to play with a stress ball resting on my desk. Scout is a creature of motion. I am almost certain that standing still for too long might cause him to spontaneously combust. He fidgets and touches things and, if they're fairly light weight, picks them up to play with them.

"Hm..." I muse, watching his hand tense and relax around the ball as I think over the question. The tendons in the back of his hand stand out and snake up the lean muscles of his forearm. Scout is the wiriest young man I have ever met, by far. I am about to reply, really, when he snaps his free hand in front of the hand squeezing the ball and I realize that I have been staring for far longer than I originally intended. All I was intending was a glance, but it somehow turned into something longer, more admiring than analytic.

"You seem real interested in my hand... fag." The corner of his lips twitches up at having caught me staring. The way that he mutters it sends a sensation through me, and I feel a streak of embarrassment—it is something that I have not felt in years.

"No-" that was my answer. That I had finally settled upon for the previous question, anyway. "Yes- I mean..." The child has me stammering and I give him a valiant frown when he smirks at me as if he has outfoxed me. His smirk is somehow infuriating and endearing at the same time. "Shut up." I grumble and move to open the door again. "If you are only here to try and make a fool of me..."

"No!" He seems to snap out of the roll he'd been having at getting a leg up on me. "I- ah... I came to talk, I did..." he assures me. He quickly pushes the door closed again and leans his back against it, looking up at me with an apologetic half-smile.

"About what?" I ask and steal my stress ball back, playing with it as I turn to walk to my desk chair. I measure my paces so that he will have plenty of time to think over his answer before I sit and stare at him expectantly. I continue to attempt to regain control the whole while. I am in control of the situation because I have more experience than this boy, and because I am a Spy. It's my _job_ to take control of situations.

He is speechless and has a 'deer in the headlights' (as I believe the American phrase goes) expression. My stare softens as a smile spreads across my lips and I beckon to him. He stays where he is.

"Come." I implore him, rolling my eyes as I wave him towards me. He takes a few hesitant steps, eyes moving from my own to the ball in my hand and back again. I'm not sure if he is expecting me to suddenly throw it at him or something equally childish. He stops so that he is standing awkwardly near me and I scoot back from the desk, patting my lap casually. He seems to relax a bit before perching lightly on my lap. I roll my eyes again and my arms wrap around him, pulling him fully onto my thighs before I rest my chin on his shoulder. He wiggles a little, as if he wasn't expecting me to be able to hold his weight.

"Are you here for this, _cher_?" I ask softly, making sure my breath moves hot across his neck. Just to feel the light shivers it sends through him.

"N-no..." he clears his throat and coughs a bit before continuing, "... I'm here because... because I hadn't seen you in a while, 'kay?" He mutters, crossing his arms and looking devoutly away from me.

"Oh?" I nuzzle the soft hairs at the base of his skull; they smell of sweat and dirt with faint traces of standard issue shampoo. I feel him shiver again and sigh before moving my head to rest on his shoulder again. "Is it because you missed me?" I ask softly, as if it were a secret. You would think that it is, the way he jumps and denies it in broken sentences. "Ah, that is too bad..." I mention, shushing his denials with a calm finger pressed to his lips.

"Why's that?" He mumbles around my finger. I pull it back with a small smile.

"Because, I missed you too." I mention fluidly, kissing my finger where it had rested against his lips. I can feel the warmth that my glove picked up from his lips.

He is stunned for a few seconds, staring at me as if I had grown another head. Before I know it, his lips are on mine and I'm not doing a thing to stop him. Why should I? After all, this is the desired effect of my cajoling. It is another of those inexperienced "I'm going to jump into this head first" ones that makes me so glad that this little virgin whelp is pursuing me. It is quite avidly, if I am to judge from the quickly progressing kiss.

Which I slow down immediately, of course.

"Wh-why'd you... pull back... faggot?" each pause contains a soft kiss from my lips through which he tries to take it back to the tongue-twining level that he had been working for the first time. I interfere with yet another of his attempts and pull back to let the next words tumble out.

"Because you are going far too fast for my tastes, _amour_..." I purr, pressing my lips to his again and getting a slack response as he thinks my statement over.

"Yeah...? Well... I'mma Scout, man, I like fast." He comments cockily, moving to straddle my lap instead of sitting sideways.

"Oh? I suppose I will have to remember that, then..." I reply, relaxing backwards when he leans forward again. He gives me a pout and I chuckle. Heaving a sigh of defeat, he rests his cheek on my chest.

"So, is there a reason you want me to be your fag-buddy?" he asks. My arms rest around his waist and I mull over his question while massaging his back through his shirt with my fingertips. On the inside, though, I'm trying to puzzle out a nice little lie for the boy. No one wants to hear that they're being wooed on a whim, do they?

"Do I need a reason?" I answer, trying to distract him by slipping my hands up his shirt and onto the warm skin of the back beneath. It's soft too, and my fingers begin gently tracing patterns upon his skin.

"Uh..." I can tell he is indeed distracted by the swirling patterns I'm making and congratulate myself on avoiding a potential train wreck. "... are you saying you don't have one?" The question makes my hands pause and I quickly turn it into a _considering_ pause. It's a bit longer than a _oh, that was the head of that nail_ pause.

"I just do not see the need for the question." I finally admit as my fingers begin tracing along his back again before his hands catch my wrists and bring them around to rest between us. I make a great show of sighing and move my hands so that I am gripping his wrists instead of the other way around. My hands pull him forward and I nuzzle his hair, trying to puzzle out a good answer with which he will be satisfied.

"I'm not a freakin' retard, man." He mumbles, pulling back and bracing his hands on my chest. "If you're just gonna be a douchefag and bone me and then leave me..." his jaw tightens and I can see behind his eyes that something in his past has inflicted this as a scar.

"Hey, hey..." I murmur softly, trying to calm him down- like one would a scared animal, I suppose. My original intent is not satisfactory, apparently... so I do what I am best at. I lie. "I would never do such a thing, _mon petit_..." I assure him gently and he stops tendering the idea of pulling away. I know because he allows his weight to rest on his hands against my chest and something vulnerable enters his eyes. He really is just a boy... barely out of his teenage years and fighting a war for which there is no cause.

"You promise...?" He asks, almost softly but still with that cocky, Scout-like edge to it. I move my arms up around him, pulling him close and allowing his head to rest on my chest as one of my hands shifts up to ruffle his messy brown hair.

I know that this is all a mistake; that I'm going to regret letting the boy manipulate me even as I manipulate him, but I can't help it. There's something about him that just makes me want to humor him. To want to care.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, I awake before him.

Scout is sprawled upon his stomach next to me, still fully clothed with an arm across my middle. I stretch and my movement causes the boy to mumble and shift so that he's curled on his side, however, it is towards me. His arm stays on me and I'm left wondering how to slip away without waking him.

I feel a tugging in the back of my mind as I just lay there, and know that I need a cigarette. The craving is annoying and I once again curse my naivety that first brought me to smoke. It makes me look cooler and is much better and less destructive than the Heavy's addiction to Sandwiches, so I can't really be _too _put out over it.

Eventually, I just sit up and reach over him to my side table where my cigarettes and lighter rest. He mumbles a little and I feel him nuzzle my stomach as I stretch across him. It's cute that he is so attached to me already and as I settle back again, I see his eyes watching me.

"Good morning." I tell him, taking a cigarette from my case and allowing it to perch between my lips for a moment so that I can ruffle his bed-head before lighting up.

"Mornin'," he mumbles back, stretching out on his back and groaning when his back pops. "Oh… I slept here last night." He realizes and his cheeks darken slightly.

"M-hm." I hum, allowing a breath of smoke to breeze through my lips. It had been… _a while_… since I had last had a warm body accompany me in sleep. Being on base the majority of the year left very little time for much tomfoolery. "You drool in your sleep you know." I tell him jokingly and his face turns another, deeper shade of red.

"Yeah, well… you snore!" He exclaims petulantly. Scout must not be too cross with me, however, since he scoots over so that he's using my lap as a pillow now and closes his eyes again.

I chuckle and pet his hair gently, removing my cigarette from between my lips and resting that hand on the sheets where he used to lie. "I did not hear you complaining last night." I mention, smiling widely. He is very comfortable with me after so little time and it only makes me wonder how he hadn't already thrown his lot in with another at the base. Of course, none of the other men here are anywhere _near_ as good a lover as I, but still, if he was so starved for affection, it was a miracle that he had stayed "straight" for so long.

"Probably couldn't hear it over your fog horn of a snore." He grumbles and I chuckle, still stroking his hair. Scout drifts off again and I am left smoking and thinking. It is still early, and I could go back to sleep for another hour… but it's nice to just sit and watch him sleep on me.

At a quarter to eight, I finally sigh out the last breath of my cigarette and shake Scout gently.

"_Ami_, it is time to wake up." I tell him softly, getting a groaning grumble from him as he snuggles further into my lap. Which, really, feels more like molestation than the cute and child-like action that it actually is. "Scout, please remove your face from my crotch." I say, a little more insistently than my previous wake-up.

"Wha-…? Oh, hell!" He jerks back when he realizes that he has been getting entirely too friendly with my slacks and sits up, blinking blearily. "Sorry… 'n' stuff… shit, what time is it?" He asks, stretching and looking around for a clock.

"It is almost eight." I tell him, tossing the butt of my cigarette into my ashtray and scooting past him to the edge of the bed so that I can stand.

"… Why am I up again?" I hear him flop back down and roll my eyes.

"You can stay there until you feel like getting up, I suppose." I tell him, retrieving a clean undershirt and underwear from my dresser and taking a hanging pair of slacks out of my closet before exiting my room. He does not answer me, so I assume that he has fallen back asleep. There is nothing in my room that he will bother, I think. I do not keep a diary or a photo album of my previous escapades in plain sight, and any letters that I have he wouldn't even know what to do with.

I sigh when I finally pull my mask off, preparing for my shower. The others only shower at night, but I like to before and after battle, before because it gives me the privacy to remove my mask and shave myself down to the clean-shaven look that I prefer, and after because it is generally hot out on the field and I wear a suit. I shave off my stubble and trim my hair a little first before entering one of the stalls in the communal showers.

As I relax in the warm water, my thoughts turn to the boy lying in my bed. What am I supposed to do with him? Of course, I will probably do exactly what I promised that I wouldn't- "love" him and then "leave" him. I do not necessarily _want_ to do that to him. I mull it over in my mind as I watch suds follow the hodge-podge of scars down my body. I do not want to hurt him, but I know that I will.

"_C'est la vie_." I say aloud as I shut off the water and smooth my hair back.

As I return to my room, Scout is hurriedly yanking one of my suit jackets off and allowing it to fall to the floor as if he hadn't been touching anything. It would have worked if, perhaps, I treated my clothing with as little respect and he wasn't looking so _guilty_. I don't comment, just chuckle, pick up the jacket from the floor, and hang it on the back of the chair where I had originally had it.

"So, you are awake again." I comment, walking to my closet and pulling on a clean white shirt over my undershirt. I can feel his eyes on my back and consider turning around before just ignoring it. I will let him look for now, I decide, as I undo my pants to tuck in my shirt.

"You take forever to get dressed." He finally pipes up as I tie my tie with a practiced ease and turn my collar back down.

"Oh?" I ask, turning to face him with a raised brow. "I'm sorry?" I'm not quite sure what he is expecting from me.

"Yeah… just sayin'." He shrugs casually and I wonder briefly if he has a problem with silence as I retrieve a clean jacket from its hanger and pull it on. "You… got a lot of scars too." He finally breaks the slightly awkward silence that he had created and I pause in buttoning my jacket to shrug. "Ain't Doc got the healing gun?" He ventures after yet another stint of silence.

I sigh and finally turn around, seeing his curious face and the slight… worry that was also behind his eyes. He was worried about me.

I can't stop the smile that spreads across my lips and I walk over to him, looking slightly down, as he is half a head shorter than myself.

"You should not be worried, _mon petit_. They are very old. It is not as if I am skipping trips to Medic merely so that I can look 'cool.' " I assure him, pressing my lips briefly to his forehead as a reward for being endearing and voicing his concerns.

"Yeah, I didn't think you were… but I was just wonderin' and stuff." He tells me, watching as I light another cigarette before slipping case and lighter into an inner pocket in my jacket.

"They are from the base that I was at previously." I tell him, quite sure that that little piece of information wasn't against contract. "We didn't have a Medic." I tack on with a shrug, frowning a little at the memories of having to allow a Heavy to bandage my wounds after a particularly nasty battle. I much prefer this base, with its Medic and beautiful respawn. That had been the most daunting thing about my previous base- that you could die at any moment. Coming to this one afterward just made the war seem like child's play. Then again, that was many years ago. Now, most bases were equipped with respawn so that the mercenaries will not have to go without a Medic.

"Oh… well, that sucks." Scout announces after no doubt trying to figure out why a base _wouldn't_ have a Medic. I make a sound of agreement as I use my chair to tie my shoes and righting my suit after straightening again.

"Go change into clean clothes and meet me in the kitchen for breakfast, _petit_." I instruct him gently when he just stands there awkwardly again. His face tells me that he was waiting for me to say _something _and I smile when he hugs me before zipping out to do as I have told him.

Should I feel bad that I'm not going to let this last? Not for _too long, _anyway.

Though… perhaps a while longer, however.


	5. Chapter 5

Scout is timid as he enters the kitchen, it is as if he does not know what to expect (again)— will we be eating together often; should he be worried about the team drawing conclusions; will I show him open affection and expect it to be returned? It is cute, though a little counterproductive and silly.

I back away from the stove with two plates of pancakes, smiling as I set them both gently down, one in front of my own chair, and the other before the seat across from me. If he wants to eat these delicious pancakes, he will have to sit with me. Otherwise, he can make his bowl of cornflakes as usual and stay away from my room for the next week. I see the hesitation on his face, but I know I've won when he zips over to get a glass of milk from the fridge. He never touches the stuff unless cereal, pancakes or waffles are involved and he doesn't use a glass for his cornflakes.

He edges around the table, a blush on his face as he approaches the seat that I have designated for him. If any of our teammates look up, they will notice that he is being very pointed about not looking at them. However, they were too wrapped up in their own food and conversation to notice my Scout and I sitting across from each other in silence.

The pancakes would be much more enjoyable drowned in whipped crème, but that is a luxury that our employers don't think is particularly necessary. That being, I sip my tea slowly and occasionally take a bite of dry pancakes and act calm and collected as usual; I am not fidgety and impatient like Scout who picks at his food and occasionally shovels a large, ungainly bite into his mouth before picking at them again in their river of syrup. Disgusting stuff, really, I don't know why everyone but myself likes to slather everything with it- perhaps because the other food that we receive is quite tasteless and altogether boring.

Finally, I can stretch out my breakfast for no longer and take one last bite before pushing my plate away and settling back with my coffee mug of tea clutched in my gloved hands. I see Scout looking at it and raise a curious brow.

"Yes?" I ask, drawling out the vowel in the most patronizing way imaginable with a smirk.

"What's in there? It doesn't smell like the shit Sniper and Engie're drinkin'." He tacks on, hopping over the table so that he can take the chair next to me, placing me between himself and our tablemates. His hand rests on my knee and I'm surprised that he would be so bold to even talk to me in front of our team, much less touch me publicly after the little spell of ignoring and evasion that we have had going for the past week. However, since the team cannot see his touching, I suppose it can be expected.

"That is because it is not coffee." I tell him, tilting the cup so that he can see the light brown, fairly clear liquid in the mug.

"It smells weird… like spice 'n' shit." He mentions, taking the cup from me and holding it up to sniff it. I see Sniper glance over and roll his eyes. No doubt he thinks that Scout has targeted me as the man to annoy for the day. How lucky of me. I smile politely at him and turn in my chair so that I block Scout from the rest of the table's view, an elbow on the table and my cheek resting on my fist.

In a low voice, I suggest softly, "yes, well, try a little. It is quite good." He looks up at me like I just suggested that he jump upon the table and declare his deep, passionate love for me in front of the other four men at the table. My serious expression cracks into small shards and I am left snickering to myself, attempting to hide my face from view with my hand. I am usually quite composed, but Scout's expression has succeeded in making me lose my composure.

"What're you laughing at, fag?" Scout pipes up indignantly, slamming the cup on the table and standing. Tea sloshes angrily over the sides of the cup and stains the wooden table a darker brown. I, being ready for anything at all times, move my elbow before the liquid can stain my suit. How rude.

"Nothing, nothing..." I assure him, waving him to sit back down, but I can tell from his face that he's angry with me, even though it was his own loud mouth that brought four pairs of eyes to stare at us.

"Fuck no." He growls at me and heads for the door. I roll my eyes and sigh, taking my cup back up and sipping at what is left from his little tantrum.

"What was that?" Engineer asks, raising a brow at me. He seems to accept my chuckling and shaking of my head as an acceptable answer and shrugs before turning back to explaining some sort of science _thing_ to Sniper, Medic and Demoman. Honestly, the man should look up what the phrase "layman terms" means, and then apply it to every conversation he has.

I have to wait five minutes _at least_ after Scout has walked out before I can follow him, so I sit in my chair, sip the remainder of my tea, and think about Scout. His face when I offered to let him try my tea was charmingly horrified and curious all at once. Then the rage had wiped it away. I smile a little as I drain the last of my tea and stand, taking our plates to the sink and walking to the door myself. Engineer had lost his audience and they had fallen to discussing when the next time they would be able to have a campfire and drinking party. I missed the last one on account of having an elusive and mysterious reputation to uphold.

I am, quite obviously, a slave to appearances.

I nonchalantly walk through the halls, glancing down each passageway in the hope of hearing my little Scout raging over how insensitive I am and whining about how hard he was trying to cope with his new sexuality. Instead, it takes me half an hour to find him in possibly the most obvious place in the world: my bed.

I had actually given up, and returned to my room in order to brush my teeth and smoke one last cigarette before battle, though it wouldn't be in that order, of course. I opened my door to see Scout stretched out on my bed, his face buried in my pillow. I just watch him for a moment.

"Are you alright, _petit_?" I ask softly, finally speaking as I step in and allow the door to shut softly behind me.

"No," is the muffled answer that I get from my pillow. "I can't do this, man." He whines, his arms tightening around my pillow, further smothering his face into it. I smile and walk over to sit next to him. My hand moves in soothing circles across his back and when he finally extricates his face from my pillow, I see that he hasn't been crying, but his face is red with embarrassment and, maybe, a little residual anger as well.

"Why not?" I ask softly, leaning in to press my lips to his, and then his jaw and neck. He relaxes as soon as my lips touch him and he doesn't speak for what seems like an eternity as I brush my lips lightly along his skin, raising goosebumps in my wake.

"I… it's… it's not you." He assures me, as if I would really think that I was the problem. I know that it's him and his little insecurities just as much as he does. However, I'm the bigger man, so I step down and nod gratefully.

"Oh, good." I offer finally, when he doesn't elaborate. "So, what is it?"

"It's…" he pauses dramatically and shrugs a little, his eyes flitting around the room nervously as I settle down with my chin on his chest, my hands folded beneath it. I can feel his heart fluttering beneath his sternum, and wonder if it's always that fast. I suppose it would be a little too self-gratifying to assume that it only does that when I'm so close.

"It's…" he tries again, his dramatic pause had lengthened to a "what the hell am I supposed to say?" pause and I sigh heavily as the silence stretches out again.

"Would you like me to tell you what it is?" I ask, sitting up and slipping my hand into his. He quickly nods and scrambles to sit up, staring at me and hoping that I'll say anything besides what I am about to. I lean closer and he does too, presenting his ear when I motion for him to lean closer.

I brush my lips against his ear and murmur softly, keeping my tone low, seductive and convincing. "You are afraid of losing what little reputation you have gained and being labeled a 'faggot.' " I tell him, allowing my lips to brush against his lobe every now and then. I work my hand up from his loose grip and ghost my fingers up his arm before allowing them to drop away to his headset, which rests on my nightstand. He will probably become even angrier with me than before for this. From the way that he was acting this morning, however, he will not be able to go long without my body to curl against, so I am not actually worried about his wrath.

He does not realize what I'm doing until it's too late. I have the headset on and am backing away from the bed before he even realizes that I'm not breathing against his ear anymore.

"May I borrow your earpiece?" I ask, and it dawns on him as his expression darkens with rage.

"Don't you fucking-!" He doesn't even stand before I continue with my taunt. His face is redder than the RED logo, and I might be going too far as I flick the switch next to the one that I had before.

"This is Scout!" I pause for a moment to listen to my own voice on the intercom system. I smirk a little, feeling Scout's hands slam against my chest and push me against the door. "Rainbows make me cr-" his lips cut me off and then his teeth are biting my lip. A surprised gasp escapes my throat as I push at his chest, my other hand already heading for a pressure point in his neck. Before I can jab my thumb into it, though, his teeth stop their harsh assault and his lips caress my abused lip.

" 'm not crying…" he mumbles, pulling away and locking his eyes on mine. I wonder if the rest of the team listened to our kiss, but then see that he has already flicked the switch back down. "I just don't want the team to know… not yet..." He added on, as if he thought that I would be disappointed in his need for secrecy.

I smirk and raise a hand to cup his cheek and pull him in for another gentle kiss. "_Petit_, that was not my intention at all… When I offered to let you try my tea, you could not be seen by the rest of the team."

"… oh." A look of surprised realization and a tinge of regret cross his face and flushes a light pink across his cheeks. "S-sorry… about that 'n' stuff..."

I chuckle and kiss his lips again in answer, glad that he returns it in a gentle manner instead of trying to force himself upon my mouth. It seems that he is learning quickly, I should advance the relationship again soon. However, I think that I will wait until he is ready to ask for more before simply offering it.


	6. Chapter 6

"You still sit like a fag." This again. The past two weeks have been pleasant: there are few nights where I find myself alone, and Scout has not had another outburst of paranoia. It seems that he has finally realized that it is not my goal to embarrass him in front of our teammates, but, rather, to keep his little secret.

"And you still, apparently, want to invite me to…" I trail off in much the same manner that he had when first explaining to me how a "straight man" sits in contrast with a man of good breeding and etiquette sits. I glance over from my place at my desk and see that he's blushing. However, he is still relaxing back on my bed with his legs spread, his torso supported on his elbows so that he can watch me write a letter to my colleague at another base. The fact that he doesn't snap his knees together and begin fervently denying that he wants to take part in any "fag stuff," interests me and I cross my last cedilla before placing the stationary in a drawer and gently shutting it.

He seems to squirm when I turn to appraise him, and he blushes more, not allowing his eyes to find mine. It is then that I realize that he really does want me to take our intimacy to another level. The insight is both surprising and amusing; it brings a smirk to my face. His expression becomes surly at the change of my own.

"What?" He asks, shifting nervously and trying to act nonchalant.

I don't answer, but instead turn my chair to face him and cross my arms. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You're doin' that creepy smirk thing." He says, glowering at me. Surely he does not expect me to readily jump to the task of pleasuring him? "… and just sitting there… not over here… 'n' stuff."

"And what would I do over there?" I ask, raising a brow and allowing my eyes to travel along his sprawling body. I notice that his shirt just barely touches his pants, teasing me with promises of taut skin and a trail of light hair that's just barely there. His pants are, perhaps, a bit tighter than when he barged into my room, plopped upon my bed and announced that he was, "Bored as hell." For my part, I had ignored him and continued my narration of how the Cloak and Dagger was only for those with patience- something my colleague lacked.

Scout is silent until I finish my appraisal and allow his eyes to catch mine. There's a challenge veneered with a plea in his gaze and my lips curl further. "You're being a dick." Well, it isn't the first time that he has told me this. He has said it in excess of twelve times since we first kissed, but I'm sure that he likes it by this point. Otherwise, he wouldn't be laying on my bed, passive-aggressively attempting to receive a blowjob.

"Oh, come, _petit_," I simper, spreading my arms to either side. "Do tell me what you want from me… because you will not get it otherwise." Scout is all about implications and abstract comments; I want him to be direct and straight to the point.

His face twists and he looks like he is about to speak when he, instead, grumbles and turns over to curl up on his side.

Typical. I am not going to coddle him tonight, though, and turn back to my desk. If I were truthful to anyone, much less myself, I might admit that I am frustrated with his lack of progress. He acts so self-assured one moment and then curls up on his side like a kicked puppy.

I last five minutes before I fold and silently stand.

"What do you want from me?" I ask, sitting next to him and scooping an arm around him so that I can slide my lap under his head. "Are you afraid again?" I ask when he stays silent, knowing that the boy's rage at the implications usually gets us somewhere.

"No, I'm not fucking _afraid_." He replies testily, trying to squirm away from me, but my arms wrap around him firmly and he soon stops his struggling. There's a moment of still silence before he burrows his face into my lap, grumbling expletives about me. Another moment, and then he tells me, "You're worse than a fucking girl, wantin' me to just _say_ shit." He grumbles, his voice muffled and annoyed.

Perhaps I have been playing with him more than he is used to. Oops.

I sigh and pull him up to sit in my lap instead of being face down in it. My arms tighten around his torso when he struggles and I nuzzle his neck lightly, pressing a gentle kiss to it as well.

"I did not mean to make you angry," I tell him, adding my own mental: well, not enough to make me _feel bad_ about it. His muscles relax and I know that I've said the right thing.

"It's… okay- I mean, you're probably not used to trying this hard, huh?" The thought makes me laugh and I give him a little squeeze. He thinks that he would be hard to get into bed?

"You have no idea, _petit_…" I tell him, kissing his ear and rubbing his chest soothingly. I feel him relax back against my chest and smile. "You've been driving me absolutely mad this past month, thwarting all of my efforts and only giving me little comforts."

"Wow, shit, it's already been a month?" He asks, twisting his head and torso to face me. I capture his lips in mine and he relaxes further into me. Soon, his knees are on either side of my hips and his fingers are gripping at my mask.

"M-hm…" I purr when we break, and nuzzle the hollow of his throat. "You are very good at keeping me off of you." I tease, giving his collarbone little nips.

"Yeah…" he breathes, wiggling against my grasp when I graze a ticklish spot with my lips. "I'm pretty awesome, ain't I?"

"Indeed, quite 'awesome.' " Despite my sarcastic overtones, he doesn't seem to catch on and lifts his arms when I pull his shirt up. His hands move to my tie, but I stop them before he can get a hold of it and remove it myself. "I do not want a repeat of last time." I tell him, matching his glower with my mock of his expression. The reminder gets a small smile and he laughs a little.

"Aw, c'mon… I almost got it!"

"Not even a little." I snort derisively and reach over to lay the tie neatly on the bedside table. Scout is shifting before I realize it and suddenly, instead of cradling him in my lap, I'm above him with his hands gripping my lapels tightly, keeping my surprised face close to his. I nonchalantly raise a brow so that my expression is no longer one of surprise, but hints that I am waiting for an explanation.

His hands tighten and he pulls me closer, locking our lips again and further rumpling my suit. I allow him a moment of victory before breaking the kiss and wrapping a hand around one of his wrists.

"I still have to eat dinner in this suit, you know." I tell him, trying to ignore several emotional responses that I have never felt before. His eyes narrow and he pushes me off of him with a noise of angry frustration. He's pulling his shirt back on before I can even blink.

It is a moment of tense silence, this whole while has been slightly awkward, I will admit, but the silence seems to stretch on forever even though it takes only a few seconds.

"_Petit_, what are you doing?" I ask, unsure of myself. It reflects in my voice and I hate it.

"I'm leaving. I'm tired of you always being a fucking douche when I come to hang out with you! And then, when I want to screw around, you act like it's a big fucking game that I have to spell out for you. I'm the 'silly leetle virgeen,' " it is here that he mocks my accent (quite horribly might I add), "here, not you! God, why are you such a fucking dick?" He ends his tirade breathless and with slight moisture in his eyes. I would swear that his voice cracked on a few of the words, but it would be complete speculation since I was too busy being blown away by the fact that he was angry with me. "You promised you weren't just fucking around." His voice cracks on the last word this time. I feel something in me crack as well as I remember the promise. Of course, I ignore it.

Apparently, my assumption that he will be docile while I play my games is false. He really wants a meaningful relationship with me. So, I do what I do best. I smirk, shake my head and push him away.

"If you are not here for the sex, then please leave."

His expression changes into something unpleasant, maybe his heart broke, I don't know. I don't _do_ that kind of emotion.

"Fuck you- way to prove you're just a horny ass-hat, dickwad." He sneers before slamming my door and stalking off.

I lie back again and stare at the ceiling, frowning slightly. For the first time in my long history of conquests, I feel guilt.


	7. Chapter 7

Unfortunately, as time passes, I do not feel better about what happened between Scout and myself. He avoids me, sitting next to Pyro during meals. He knows that I feel… _apprehension_ when I am around the fire-wielding monstrosity, and that I will not approach him as long as that _thing_ is nearby. It has been a week, give or take a few days and I find myself waking up and reaching for the little source of body heat that I used to curl around in the middle of the night. It happens too often for my liking.

When I am alone, my thoughts circle around to the way that his hair used to stick out in the morning before I finger-combed it into some sense of array. I miss the way that he used to blush when I did anything remotely romantic, or the way that my heart jumped when he was beneath me that last time before I had to go and screw it up. Apparently, I have more relationship issues than Scout. I never realized them until I was alone- there is no longer a reason to try and fix them _now_. Scout is gone and I am back to how I was before: professional and unshakeable.

My stomach twists every time I pass him in the hallway. I wish I could thread my fingers through his hair and press my lips to his, or just give him a passing peck on the cheek. Perhaps I could press my hand into his and murmur a soft, "I am sorry," before sauntering off with my head bowed and he will run after me, leap into my arms and we can return to my room to continue where we left off before I shoved him away emotionally.

_Mon dieu. _At what point did I become _a_ _romantic_?

Some days, I just want to barge into his room and apologize, sweep him into my arms and kiss him until he says that it's okay, he's sorry that he left instead of just punching some sense into me and telling me what a bastard I was being.

Aside from battles, I try to hide in my room, brooding. Engineer seems to sense that something is wrong and has asked me about it on two occasions, but after I gently remind him that it's my business and not his own, he leaves me well enough alone to my misery.

Letters lie unopened and forgotten upon my desk, and there are more cigarette butts in my ashtray than I have ever allowed to accumulate before. It occurs to me that all this would be solved if I actually acted on my fantasies- sucked up my pride and apologized to Scout, whether it lead to forgiveness or him batting me in the head. I can't do it, though. I am not sure if it is too simple, too easy, or if I'm just trying to latch onto the last shreds of dignity that I possess.

No one has ever quite gotten to me like this Scout. He saw through my games, finally, and stood up to me. He is bright, handsome, loud and obnoxious and all I want to do is stroke his hair while he lies close by my side.

_What is wrong with me_?

I slowly realize, halfway through my second pack of the day, that I wasn't the only one being toyed with when I was playing my games with Scout. The weeks of pushing and pulling his newfound sexuality had caused me to… become closer to him that I ever want to acknowledge. I pushed him away because I had seen it then as well. I knew that I was succumbing to something which I wanted no part in, but it was too late. I had already fallen for the little brat.

I consider slowly that it has taken me a week of introspection to reach this conclusion. How long it will take me to act on it? I stub out my cigarette and blow out the trail of smoke in a soft sigh. Smoke eddies around my room, the sunset filtering through the atmosphere I have created and giving it a sort of ethereal glow.

How should I apologize- how _could _I?

My eyes begin to sting and I cross to the window, airing my room and taking in a breath of fresh air. Maybe I will die of lung cancer before I have to apologize. It's a vague hope, but not entirely superfluous.


	8. Chapter 8

I really had been a dick hadn't I?

I muse upon the subject as I smoke a cigarette in a lonely alcove on the field. A box of ammunition and a medical pack float eerily nearby. The battle between the teams rages at least six hundred meters away. Since buildings and distance mute the noises, I am left almost quietly to my thoughts.

The remaining stub of the cigarette falls to the ground and I crush it beneath my shoe to join the few others that had already sacrificed themselves to my cause. I flip open my case, but there are no more cigarettes within. I glower at the thing, snap it shut and decide that this has gone far enough. I need to resolve this spat, and I need to do it soon. My pride is nothing compared to my nicotine cravings. Becoming a chain smoker like I have over the past few weeks will become detrimental to my job. Before, I only needed a few cigarettes a day, one in the morning and another at night- perhaps more if the stress called for it, but ultimately, I could make the packs that I got from shipments last and have some left over even when the next shipment came in.

I am down to one full pack left out of my entire stash.

I idly pick up the floating box of health and wonder if it has any suppressive properties for my cravings. Before I can go so far as to test it, a yell causes me to turn and I almost drop the thing when I see who it is streaking around the corner, dodging the majority of a rocket's blast radius with a none-too-graceful double jump. He hits the ground running and bolts to where I am. Blood is flowing from several wounds and I notice a limping hobble now that he is closer.

My heart rate accelerates when he turns his glower up at me with adrenaline from the battle darkening his eyes. I wonder if there's enough sapping his inhibitions for him to actually take a swing at me. I sincerely hope not, since I wouldn't have the gall to strike back.

"Give me the damn health pack already." He states after a moment of silence. The Soldier hadn't followed him, he knew that he didn't need to. Not even two hundred meters away, the Engineer had his dispenser and sentry set up. It was up and off the ground so that no one could see it until it was firing at him. They had a trap for Scout, and everyone involved knew that he would just blunder right into it. It is what he does, how he works. Just pushing forward while everyone else watches and tells him it's a bad idea.

If only someone could have been there to tell him that when he was becoming involved with me.

"Take a minute to catch your breath, _petit_." I tell him with a charming smile- at least, I hope it's charming. I can't tell over the way that my voice seems to be shaking. It is a sincere hope that my face is not betraying me as well.

"Don't fucking call me that, asshat." He sneers, wiping blood out of his eye and streaking it across his cheek. There's a gash somewhere in his hair. Blood is coating the left side of his forehead and soaking his hat. "Now fucking _give me_ the shitting _med kit_!" He yells and I wince, afraid that their Engineer will hear him and come investigate. Well, perhaps that will work to my advantage. If he will come away from his little toys long enough for me to stick some Sappers on them, then their little trap is gone and the way to the point is open for Scout.

"I will give it to you, petit." I tell him, putting emphasis on the last word with what I sincerely hope is a sneer to match his. "But you have to promise me, first: that you will both stand here and make enough noise to draw the Engineer's attention to yourself, and second: that you will come to my room after the battle. We need to talk." I don't know what I'm doing, how will I explain myself, what can I say to him?

"Yeah, and how do you know that I'll do that last bit, fruitcup?" He snorts, but I can tell he's going to say, "yes." Perhaps he has been thinking the same thing, just waiting for me to ask him to come back to me…

"Because you are not like me." I tell him truthfully before pressing the health pack into his hands and turning to walk away. "Wait here until you hear the sentry explode." It is time to have some fun with the Engineer, but I am dreading what is going to come afterward. Meeting with Scout after battle seems so wrong after what I had done. I have never asked anyone back that I have pushed away before. Once they really wanted to get serious, I cut the ties and let the metaphorical boat set sail.

I still don't want anything serious with him, I reason as I cloak and slip up the stairs to where the Engineer's sentry is placed. I hear a whoop and taunting from where I left Scout and the Engineer looks up from making adjustments on his level three sentry. His teammates have given him plenty of time to prepare a defense, but once they hear that someone is on their last point, they will break ranks and our own teammates will be able to force their way through.

The Engineer stands and pulls out his shotgun before trundling off to take care of Scout. I muse upon killing him after I have already taken care of his machines, but he will just come back once I have stuck my sappers on them and endanger me. I uncloak, the soft whoosh is overlaid with the beeping of the sentry. He doesn't notice it.

I follow him silently down the stairs, in the guise of himself, knife out and waiting for him to pause just a moment so that I will have a clean stab. He pauses at the bottom to look from side to side and I push the knife in, severing several things and causing him to slump to the ground. I wipe my knife on his overalls and return to the machines quickly, I have moments before he pops out of respawn and attempts to run and save his "_bébés_." It will be too late, though.

The machines break down and, moments later, I hear an exclamation followed by two different shotguns going off. There is silence, and then Scout whoops, followed by the light patter of his feet. The woman over the intercom announces that the point is being contested and I hear a lull in the battle as the enemy turns to attempt to defend their point. They will be too late, though, and I can hear the screams as they allow themselves to die so that they will respawn again and have some chance of recovering the point.

I take up a position where the Engineer had been and pull out my Ambassador. Scout is dodging shots from those pouring out of their respawn. My gun smokes and kicks back as I fire all six rounds in quick succession. One hits a head and two find the enemy Scout's torso. Scout finishes off both with two wide spreading shots from his Scattergun.

Before long, our team is swarming over the scene, and I see Scout finally go down from a Pyro. I shrink back and reload before switching to my knife and disguising. Not taking advantage of all of this chaos would be a crime, after all. I take a side hall down to jump out of a small window that opens to a ledge near their spawn. The enemy Scout runs past me, giving my Pyro-disguise encouragement before I sink my knife into his back. The Medic and Heavy follow him, and then the Pyro, Demoman. Bullets bite at me from the respawn behind me, but the point is almost completely ours. Before I can reach the SMG wielding Sniper, I fall and return to respawn. I straighten my suit and mask, a little ruffled by the side effects of respawn and take my time catching my breath. The point is ours already, and as soon as I exit respawn, the Announcer calls out our victory. Scout rushes past me as I stand outside, watching my knife glow, but making no move to join the carnage across the field. He hesitates and skids to a stop, looking like he would rather talk now than later.

I shake my head and smile at him. "Later, _petit_, go enjoy the blood bath." I tell him, having no desire to be caught talking to Scout by any returning teammates. Any words that I say to him will be for the privacy of my room.

"Yeah... see you after battle then." He tells me, sounding nervous before he goes running off again, hoping to catch the tail end of the killing spree.

I pull out my cigarette case absently and flip it open. My hand gropes habitually at its empty interior before I shut it and sigh heavily. What am I going to say to Scout?


	9. Chapter 9

We have won the battle, but I still have my own to contend with when I return to my room. Scout is not waiting for me. I am not sure if I should expect him to be waiting, really. I used to be so calm and self-assured- I knew what to expect from Scout, both mentally and physically, but I have never had to placate an angry lover before.

I know the steps, I know the motions, I know what I must say and yet not how to say it. I am entirely out of my element. In the past, when lovers have left, I allowed them to leave and did not want to reignite the relationship. There were always more people that would go out with me. There were always more people that would trail along to my hotel room like a lost little puppy.

I cross to my closet and retrieve clean slacks before fetching my underclothes from my dresser and exiting my room. My skin is still slick with the cold shock of respawn and it makes my suit feel uncomfortable. There will be others in the showers already, so I do not remove my mask. I set my clean clothes down on the bench and strip my dirty clothes into the laundry chute.

Scout's clothes are tossed haphazardly on the bench and I sigh, folding them into a neat pile before entering the showers. A passive aggressive attempt at apologizing, but I hope that it will further convince him of my sincerity.

I do not look around for him when I enter the already steam-filled shower room. I should have, I realize, when I end up in the stall next to him. I keep my head ducked and pinch the bridge of my nose. I suddenly want a cigarette again.

He seems to ignore me as well. I shower in relative silence, though there is the soft drone of my teammates chatting. Scout leaves minutes after I arrive and I remain for five minutes longer, just relaxing beneath the spray as I attempt to figure out what I will say to him. An elaborate explanation of my psyche and the patterns of my past relationships probably won't go over well, though. Perhaps I can ask him what he wants out of the relationship first so that I know what I'm getting into. My want for him to curl against my side has to be lesser than my inherent need to stay out of anything remotely emotionally meaningful.

As I turn off the water and return to the dressing area to dry and dress myself, I realize that I'm still in the same boat as when I entered the room. I still have no idea what I'm going to say or do, but I return to my room anyway.

Scout is there, curled around my pillow with his eyes closed. His shoes are next to the door and his hair is sticking up in the strangest places, it is still damp and even from here I can smell his standard issue shampoo. I smile slowly and cross to the bed, perching on the edge and watching him for a moment.

"You're being a creepy faggot." He says after a minute, and I admire for a moment that he could stay silent and still while conscious for as long as he had. Perhaps he has just woken up, though I do not think to ask. He sits up and crosses his legs, glowering at me over my own pillow. I can't help but smile at the sight. "… what do you want me here for?" He asks when I don't reply.

The moment that I have been dreading is here. Words come to mind, but they're all the wrong ones. Some mock his hair, others chortle at him for curling around my pillow and even more are sexual innuendos. I swallow slowly and stand, cross to my desk to get my cigarettes from the top drawer and light up.

We stay like that for a moment, me facing the wall as I devour my cigarette and him watching me with his expression becoming even more disappointed. I couldn't screw this up. He wouldn't listen to me if I ever tried to speak to him again. If the wrong words came out, that would be the end and I would have to switch bases in order to find another puppyesque squeeze that would let me curl around it every night and play with its hair in the morning.

I hear him stand and cross to the door to begin putting on his shoes again and toss the cigarette in the direction of my ashtray. Two strides put me next to him and I wrap my hands around his arms, unwilling to allow him to go.

"Scout…" I say, holding him fast when he tries to pull away. The sound of his title makes him stop fighting me for the moment and his expression becomes that surly little pout of his. "I am sorry." I say quickly, knowing that it isn't long until he will begin fighting with me again. I feel him relax a little and he starts to open his mouth, but I continue quickly, hoping that while I rush to speak I won't inadvertently say the wrong thing and further enrage him.

"I am very bad at this, so bear with me. Emotional relationships have never been something that I get involved in- I know what I promised you when we first became involved," he looked as if he were about to interrupt me and bring it up, I had to toss it in. "However, I am also very bad at keeping promises." I tell him, taking a deep breath and sighing. He stays silent, still looking sullen. Apparently, I am not good at apologizing. I suppose that I can blame this on a lack of practice. "Can we perhaps start over? Try again?" I ask, loosening my grip on his upper arms and allowing him to pull away when he makes a move to.

"Why?" He asks, crossing his arms and taking a step back from me. It is also away from the door, so I don't panic again. "Why would you want to try again? Am I the only fag on base or something?"

I see his eyes glaze with moisture and quickly shake my head. "It's not like that, Scout, I-"

"Then what is it? _Why_ the _flying fuck_ do you wanna do me and not some other fag on base? Is it 'cause I don't know what I'm doing and that's just fucking hilarious?" Well, it was at first. However, I shake my head again and make a noise of frustration. I keep trying to save whatever little dignity I will have left, but he won't let me get away with what I've done. Do I have any other option but to tell the truth?

"Because you made me _feel something_." I tell him before he can either continue or start another tirade. His mouth snaps closed and his brow drops as if he suspects me of lying. I sigh and attempt to run my hands through my hair, but the mask gets in the way, so I take it off and throw it away. This is happening because of that damned mask in the first place. It's so much easier to blame everything on inanimate objects instead of one's self.

I see his eyes studying my face and turn my back to him, running my hands through my hair as I collect my thoughts, as I try to think past wanting to push him away again. I can't, not when I'm so close to patching up the damage that I did last time. Perhaps losing the mask will help. It means that I trust him, or it means that I would go that far just to sell him another lie.

I am not sure which I would believe myself if I were in his position. So, I take a deep breath and try again.

"You… gave me control even though you were still unstable in your sexuality… you trusted me then, so just listen to me…" dare I say it? "_Please_, I just… I know that what I did was wrong, I know I hurt you and I know that I 'fucked up.' " I turn and take slow steps toward him with every word and he allows me to stand mere inches from him. "However… I have missed you." I raise my hand to brush through his hair and he doesn't pull away. Something strange happens in my chest that confuses me and makes me feel good at the same time. And then I find myself speaking again, soft, truthful words that I would rather die than let anyone else hear.

"I miss the way that your hair looks in the morning, and the face you make every time I take a drink of tea." I say softly, petting his hair and watching his feet move him forward, his shoe dropping forgotten from his hand. "The way I can wake up to you watching me and the blush you get when I catch you." His cheek rests on my chest and my hand comes to a rest on the back of his head. "I… have come to care for you." I tell him, nuzzling his hair and thanking whatever gods there might be that I hadn't completely screwed this up yet.

"Swear you ain't just fucking around again…" he says softly, turning his head to bury his face in my chest.

I take a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief. A moment of silence passes and he starts to pull away, "You didn't-"

I silence him with my lips, my heart thundering in my chest and my arms wrapping tightly around his waist. He relaxes, if only a bit and I pull away, pushing my lips across his cheek to his ear. "I swear." I tell him, for once intending to keep it. His body goes lax against mine and I pull him closer as I back toward the bed. We sit and I press my lips to his once again, enjoying the experience that I have trained into them.

"How can I make all this up to you, _mon cher_…?" I ask, trailing light kisses down his neck and giving his collar bone a soft nibble.

He lets the silence stretch on as I reclaim his skin, nuzzling, kissing and nipping my way back into his good book. "I want to top," is all he says.

My lips pause in their movements and I sigh, resting my forehead on his shoulder and replaying the phrase in my mind. "You want to… 'top?' " I ask, hoping that I can feign that I don't know what he means and that he will be too embarrassed to explain himself.

"Yeah, I want," he moves to straddle me from sitting sideways in my lap, "to top you. I wanna make you mine 'n' shit."

Oh, how rich. "You want to make me yours?" I ask, unsure if the past half-hour has meant anything. Where did I stutter in telling him that he is the first man or woman to make me have actual feelings other than libido? Well, we would just have to see about this.

I lie back on my bed with my hands above my head, smiling what I hope is a timid smile.

"Just… be gentle with me." The smile drops from his lips and his entire face turns bright red, all the way out to his ears. If it wouldn't send me back to the doghouse I'd just crawled from, I would laugh. However, I just lie there, looking vulnerable and asking Scout to be gentle with me.

After a moment, he seems to snap out of his thoughts and clears his throat before laying across me and pressing his lips to mine. "You're… uh… gonna guide me through this, then?" He asks, his hands fumbling with my shirt as he attempts to push it up. I smile and nod, brushing his hands away to remove it myself before I start on his clothes, kissing his jaw and neck until I get his shirt up high enough to pull it off over his head.

His own hands are fumbling with his belt and I lay back and watch for a moment, allowing a bit of amusement to touch my face before my hands rest over his and direct them in the correct motions. "Shit… I swear I'm more coordinated than this." He says, jerking his hands away, resting them on my chest and curling them into fists. His face is still red and his expression looks like he's about to cry from embarrassment.

My arms wrap around him and I pull him close to me. I kiss his hair and chuckle softly. "I know that you are nervous." I tell him, rubbing his arm from shoulder to elbow and back again soothingly. "It's alright, you do not have to be as suave and debonair as myself." He laughs a bit at the joke- even though it is true- and snuggles closer to me. I sincerely hope that this isn't just going to turn into snuggling and kissing.

"If you would like, for your first time I can show you how to top, and then another time you may top me." I tell him, trying to rekindle what he had started. "Besides… I'm not very good with giving instructions. It is always easier to show than to tell." I mention to him, working my hands down from his torso to cup his rear through his pants and pull his hips closer to my own. He wiggles a little and peeks up from my chest.

"I… do you have to… y'know…" He mumbles, pushing his rear back against my cupping hands.

I chuckle and shake my head. "I don't have to, but I promise to be gentle…" He just quickly shakes his head and I withhold a sigh. I don't need him getting defensive and huffy at a time like this just because I was looking forward to coitus.

One hand slips up to press his torso against my own so that I can carefully switch places while moving us to the center of my bed at the same time. He is twitchy and shifts so that he's leaning against the headboard, watching me slip down on the bed so that I am poised above his pelvis. My hands quickly undo his pants, though I consider doing it with my mouth just to astound him.

I decide against it because, well, no one likes a show off. Also, he might accuse me of just playing with him again. We wouldn't want that, now, would we?

He is already straining against his briefs and I take a moment to admire how far I have gotten him with promises, kisses and looming. He clears his throat and I glance up at him innocently.

"Don't be intimidated- I know it's impressive and everything." The fact that he can smirk obnoxiously while being nervous all at once is both annoying and adorable. I am not sure which is more prevalent.

"Hm, does it suck itself?" I ask, innocently nuzzling him though his boxers and watching his face with a wicked smile. Where is your smirk now, _petit_?

"N-no… but… uhm…" Oh, how he wants to come up with something clever, I can see it in his eyes as he reaches for it and comes up with nothing.

"I can do it for you." I breathe, gusting heat across the fabric. I know it reaches the flesh beneath, because a small whine escapes his throat. He doesn't speak again and I take it that he has realized that it will only cause him more trouble.

I finally set to work, slipping his underwear down and off before settling down and supporting myself with my elbows. His knees are on either side of me and my face is inches from his semi-erection. I move a hand forward to coax him a bit, holding gently and rubbing my thumb in a circular motion against him. He makes a soft noise and hardens in my hand. I smile and press a light kiss to his shaft, cradling him with my hand and allowing my tongue to flick against him, lapping gently at the hot flesh. One of his hands finds my hair and I lick my way up to his head in a single movement before taking it in and sucking lightly on it. His hand fists in my hair and he makes a soft mewling noise as I take in more of his length.

My scalp stings beneath his abuse, but I allow him to hold on, bobbing my head and taking in more and more of him each time I go down again. His knees rise on either side of me and he tilts his pelvis so that I have to adjust my angle slightly. It takes me by surprise when his hips thrust forward, though I should have seen what he was preparing for.

My hands jump to his hips and pin them to the bed as I shoot an annoyed glance up at Scout. He is meekly gasping for breath, trying to keep himself up from slumping against the headboard like human gelatin. Now that he is pinned, he might as well be helpless to aid in his own pleasure and I once again have full control over the situation.

Everything is as it should be until he moans my name. My bobs screech to a halt and I look up at him from my position between his legs. I never thought that a simple, "shit, Spy…" would make my cock jump, but I suddenly wish that our positions were switched. I press my hips to the bed, but it isn't hard enough to give me any pleasure, so I return to my task and do to him what I wish to have reciprocated—a tasteful amount of teasing while still pleasing and garnering a plethora of needy moans. Now, if only Scout were as skilled at this as I am.

It does not take long for him to come, which is something that I am expecting. He can have all the endurance he wants on the field, but in the bedroom, I know his type. We will have to work on it, I decide, glancing over the bedside and spitting onto his discarded shirt. My hand is still gently working him, milking any last drops and serving as a gentle reminder that we are not done yet. I throb against my bed in agreement.

His eyes are closed tightly, and his lips are pursed, though they slowly relax as my hand massages his lax member.

"How is that for an apology?" I purr, giving him a light kiss on his thigh before rolling to the side and scooting up to lie beside him.

"Real good," slips out of his mouth before he bites his bottom lip and swallows, "I mean… for a start, anyway. I'm still mad at you for bein' a jerk and all."

I sigh wearily and roll my eyes. "Oh, I'm sure there will be no end to this sucking up, will there?" I ask, unbuckling my belt and pulling it free in a fluid motion to join our clothes on the floor so far.

"Oh… yeah." He says, his tone nervous as he averts his eyes. My brows drop and my hand catches his chin, directing his gaze to me.

" 'Oh, yeah'?" I ask, raising a brow. His eyes drop to his lap and he slowly scoots down to obediently take his place between my legs. I humph and undo my own pants, pushing them down to reveal my bulging briefs. I see him swallow, looking terrified. It seems that there is yet another bump in the road.

"Are you afraid of foreign penises?" I ask wearily, rubbing my face with my hand that hadn't been all over Scout's cock. I hear him make a noise that confirms my suspicions, but the words from his mouth deny it fervently, albeit stutteringly.

"No, I just… y'know, I ain't ever gotten real personal with a guy's junk like this before…" His face is crimson and I can't help but smile tensely. I still appear to be sucking up myself and sigh softly.

"_Petit_… you do not _have_ to if you do not want to…" I tell him, though my lower half most certainly does not agree. The hopeful look on his face at this revelation makes me sigh and sit up more, my cock aches against my underwear and I just want to tell Scout to quit whining and start sucking. However, that would, no doubt, be considered yet another "fuck up."

"However, I _do _still need something." I mention, taking his hand and pulling him up to sit next to me. He seems to hesitate, avoiding my eyes, but eventually he curls closer to my side and nuzzles my neck. After a while, I become impatient with his silence and sigh again before turning away from him and slipping myself out through the opening in my briefs. This is not going like I planned at all.

It takes a moment to tease myself back from frustration to pleasure, but after a few moments of clenching my jaw and sighing softly as my hand moves, I feel a smaller, rougher one slip under mine and bat it away. I might have complained if his hand didn't take up a faster tempo than my own, and add a certain friction that my own pampered palm lacks. I am soon reduced to soft sounds that will never leave the privacy of my room. My hand grips his sinewy forearm and I feel his naked body pressed flush against my back. His lips find my ear and cheek and I smile, biting my lower lip to keep from grinning like a complete fool.

I know that he is still intimidated, but the fact that he is attempting to face it is all too endearing. I softly groan with my release, my nails dig into his skin as he slows his pace and makes his grip a little firmer. My eyes remain closed as I sigh and relax back against him, pulling his arm more firmly around me when he lets go of me.

His breath rushes past my ear and his chest moves against my back in time with his quick breathing. "So… that was good, right?" He asks, eager for praise as his hand moves up to stroke my stomach and chest. His fingers trace across a larger scar across my ribs and I clear my throat, rolling over to gather him to my chest. I tuck his head beneath my chin and nuzzle his still-damp hair.

"_Oui…_" I tell him, rubbing my palm against his hip and twining our legs together. "It was good enough, anyway." I add, patting his rear with a smirk and feeling him grumble against my neck, though he burrows closer. My smirk dissolves into a smile and I hold him close, relaxing for the first time in days without the aid of a cigarette.

I hear him mumble my title and pull back, looking down at him questioningly.

"I'm still mad at you." He says sleepily, and I reach down to pull the covers over us from the end of the bed.

"I'm sure I will survive." I chuckle, resting my head on the pillow next to his.

He mumbles a little and scoots closer to press against me again. "You're a jerk."

"Yes."

"I love you, though." He says, pressing his lips to my shoulder. I feel the pit of my stomach drop out and shift against him uncomfortably. "… Spy?" He peeks up at me with a sleepy frown and I can't help it.

"I love you, as well." I tell him, not liking how the words taste at all. This seems to sate him and he curls against me once again, his breathing evens out after mere seconds and I hold him close, pressing my face into his messy brown hair.

Well, I wasn't running away yet, that was reassuring. Perhaps my commitment issues were done and over with.

Then I start shaking.


	10. Chapter 10

I have only told Scout that I love him just the once, but I cannot seem to shake it from my mind. He calls me a jerk and tells me how much of a "douche bag" I am frequently, but it's endearing. Like he's throwing affection at me through harsh words. It's entirely unhealthy for me to enjoy something like this, but I do.

I think that I handled my shakes quite well from that night. It wasn't the most comfortable way to spend it, but I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't risk waking Scout by slipping away. I didn't want to have to explain to him what was wrong if he did awaken. I would much rather not tell my little lover that I am afraid of commitment and that I only said that I love him because he was _looking _at me with _that face_.

The subject comes up again of course, though not in the way that I would ever expect it, laying in bed post after-battle shower, just soaking up the warmth and the feel of skin on skin.

"Hey, Spy, where d'you see this thing, y'know, goin'? Oh, don't fucking look at me like that! I'm a fag, I got faggy questions! Shit!" He is immediately defensive at my questioning look, and _that face_ slowly takes over his lips and turns them into a pout; it narrows his eyes and makes me feel bad for not having an immediate answer. I consider asking him to clarify what he means by, "this thing," but I am quite sure that I will get in trouble again if I do anything of the sort. He wiggles in my arms when I shift him closer, I am not much for cuddling, but it seems to be Scout's favorite past time, so I make the sacrifice.

It is rare that I am honest with anyone, but I feel as if he will see through any of my drivel about how we will be together for a long time. I can't tell him how I will be there for him when he comes out to his brothers and mother; how I will always await him at the end of the day so that he can sink into my arms and cuddle, even though I don't want to. He is not a girl, and I am not going to indulge him like one.

"Scout…" I shouldn't trail off, but I do. He senses the hesitation and starts to squirm, not wanting the answer anymore.

"No, that's fine, you don't need to say anything, I just-"

"Oh, shut up." I say, a little more harshly than necessary. My lips pressing to his soften the words, but I know that he was caught off guard by my harshness, and the suddenness of the kiss that is obviously meant to distract him, rather than initiate intimacy. Eventually, he stops struggling and I pull back, his eyes still locked on me. His lips are still in a firm pout of discontent.

"I love you." I tell him softly, shifting a hand up to cup the back of his head and cradle it against my shoulder. I'm lying, or, I tell myself that I'm lying. Deep down, I remember what I told him before, about how he made me feel something- something that I never thought that I would feel in this lifetime. An emotion that I had previously associated with being tied down, addicted, _reliant_. I had never had to rely on anyone before, but now I wanted to rely on Scout. I loved him; I wanted him to make my gut feel weird and my lips curve into a smile at the mere sight of him.

Suddenly, I realize that I'm lying to myself again- about lying. I almost want to laugh at the ludicrousness of the situation.

My face turns into the soft, clean hair and I breathe him in, my other arm tightening around his waist and pressing our bodies more tightly together. I feel his pants button dig into my stomach, and his chest pulses against mine, his heartbeats are so fast and strong that I feel ashamed of my own steady beats for a moment.

"I might not _always_ love you. But, for the moment… I can't let you go." I tell him, feeling the truth in my words and wondering at it. Perhaps I lie too often if I am surprised when I _do_ tell the truth. His breathing catches at the last bit and he tucks his face closer to my neck. He is satisfied with that answer because Scout lives in the present, I can only imagine what his mind is like: _can I kill this guy? Is this going to be fucking awesome? Will this kill me? Will this be fucking awesome _and_ kill me? Spy seems handsome and totally into me, let's go for it! Man, Spy is really good at sex. Oh, shit, foreign penis, abort, abort! Man, I'm a dick for not pleasing Spy, I'll just be adorable and I'll get away with it. Oh, shit, that worked, I'll just try it next time. Can I kill this guy? _A more perfect rendition, I am sure you will never find.

So why was he asking about the future? Sudden thoughts rush through my head: is this more trouble than it's worth; why am I doing this to myself; am I willing to risk my entire premise on novelistic feelings and ideals that I previously wanted no part in?

A scenario runs through my head. I can see myself guilting Scout into coitus- because he will do anything for me, I'm sure, with enough prompting- and then relaxing back afterward, smoking a cigarette and telling him to leave me. I have done it before, several times, really. It's just like last time that I pushed him away, but _with _getting laid. Almost immediately, I know that I won't do it to Scout. I _can't_ do it to Scout. Despite all my posturing and denial and traitorous thoughts, he made me feel something, and if that is not a cause for a change in pace, I am not sure what is.

"That is not a _faggy_ question, it's a _girly _question." I tell him, earning a loving, "yeah, fuck off," against my neck. I smile and nuzzle his hair a bit more before relaxing into my bed again.

It takes a few minutes before he finally pipes up again, "hey, Spy…"

"Hm…?" I ask, opening an eye to peek at the nervous face upturned to look at me.

"When're we gonna… y'know… fool around again?" He asks, licking his lips and snuggling closer to my chest.

I'm in no mood to "fool around," so I just shrug and close my eye again.

"When you feel like fucking me." I tell him and feel him shift against me. Allowing him to take his pacing, like I had before, should put him at a better ease and get him to relax about the issue more. "Not tonight, though."

"Nah… just like… as soon as I man up, yeah?" He asks, resting his head on my chest and relaxing against me.

I chuckle and tell him, "we have all the time in the world."

"Shut the fuck up!"


	11. Chapter 11

Romantic gestures have always come easily to me. With an impending trip to the small city closest to our base (approximately a two hour drive) approaching, I make a reservation at one of the few decent restaurants that the place has to suit my purpose and wonder if Scout has anything business casual _at least_ to wear on our date.

He is still extremely in the closet around our team, but I think that it's somewhat charming for him to care so much about what they think- especially when he draws crude penises on Heavy's face when he happens to nap in the common room. The boy's priorities are slightly askew, but I cannot find it in myself to judge him too harshly. He is still young. Someday, he will figure out that his sexuality is of less concern to others than his obnoxious demeanor.

I am still digging through his closet when I hear a throat clear itself behind me. I turn my head to look at the boy, standing there with his hair dishelved and a curious look upon his face. "Good afternoon." I tell him before resuming my digging.

"Hey, hey, whoa, whoa, what the fuck do you think you're doing in there?" He asks, stepping forward and grabbing my shirt- my jacket is folded across the back of his desk chair- to pull me away from my task.

"I am attempting to see if you own any suitable clothes for our date." I tell him, allowing myself to be pulled back from the closet and loosening my tie when his grip on my shirt doesn't flag.

"Date?" He chirps, furrowing his brows and finally letting my shirt go just as I undo the button that clasps my shirt around my neck. "What fucking date? I'm not doing anything faggy in public." I raise a brow and chuckle a little, taking his hand and pulling him to me.

"Faggy like this?" I ask, beginning to sway with him from side to side. He looks up at me, confused at first, but then I gently lead him into the first steps of a slow, simple waltz and his face turns a bright red before he looks down, trying to look at our feet. I smile and keep my strides short so that he will not be stumbling to keep up. My hand comes up to gently cup his chin so that he is not watching our feet. "Hm?"

"What?" He asks, looking as if he was concentrating entirely too hard on where his feet were going.

"Relax, _cher_, you are trying entirely too hard." I tell him, carefully leading him around the limited space in graceful movements. I raise my hand with his to spin him, and he slowly figures out what I want, still blushing like a fool. It is adorable.

"Why do I have to be the girl?" He asks, pouting as I pull him in to press his back against my chest. My arm is around his waist and I take slow steps again, guiding him with my hips and arms. By now, I'm making it up as I go along, attempting to throw together different motions while keeping it slow and flowing. Since there is no music, I can't really do it _wrong_, so everything feels quite natural.

"Because I am the one who knows what we are doing, and the man leads." I reply, resting my cheek against the top of his head and beginning to hum a soft tune in time with our movements.

"Whatever… fag." He continues to grumble and mutter as he clutches my arm and leans back against me. He's relaxing into it and I smile as we slow to a stop.

"So, do you have anything presentable to wear on our date?" I ask, knowing that I have him right where I want him. I will get my way, and the knowledge causes my lips to caress his ear and neck. His elbow pushes back against my stomach and I allow him to turn in my arms. I smile down at him and press my lips to his-

"I told you, I'm not going on a fucking date with you." My lips purse against his and I pull back, frowning. "Don't look at me like that, you know I ain't gonna be all faggy in public."

"I never said that you had to be, I just want to take you to dinner, then share a hotel room. The beds are much more comfortable than these." I assure him, hoping that I can still salvage my plans, but he just shakes his head and yanks his arm from my grip.

"We ain't goin' on a date, alright? Shit." He grumbles and mutters as he turns to walk to the door. I watch as he leaves the room, trying to tamp down my disappointment. After a few moments, he walks back in and looks at me pointedly. "This is my room! I ain't the one storming out of it."

I smile tersely and nod before walking to the door slowly. He makes an indecisive noise, and I turn to look at him again. His face is soft and hesitant, but when he sees me turn, he frowns again and crosses his arms. I turn again and smile on my way out. He isn't really mad at me for pushing him, but I will not press my luck this time.

I am a little put out over him ruining my plans, and will not allow him into my bed until I return from the trip. I can be a petulant little ass as easily as he can.

I walk past my own room and turn the next corner that I come to, entering the common room in my usual manner, head erect as if I am better than whoever else might be in the room and the knowledge that I am correct in my assumptions. Demoman is using the phone to give his favorite bar the "heads up" that he is going to be there in a few days so that they can plan their supplies accordingly. Engineer is in line behind him, but I am not one to wait and cut smoothly between him and the black man.

I hear him sigh, but he will not say anything because he is an easygoing little southern man who dislikes confrontation when he does not have a Sentry next to him. I smile privately and wait for Demoman to finish his dialect-ridden conversation. He looks at me when he hangs up and then peers around me at Engineer. I gently push him out of the way and ignore his, "asshole" comment as I dial a familiar number, perching on the small stool that sits in front of the phone.

The woman who picks up has a mellow voice, mature and rich while still carrying a youthful vibrance. She greets me with a, "hello?"

"Stephanie," I say, smiling, though she cannot see me. She can hear it in my voice, though and my accent gives me away.

"Jaque!" it is a pseudonym, I assure you. I would not be so stupid as to entrust my real name to a civilian. "How are you? It has been a while since I last heard from you…" She sounds relieved and I chuckle, letting her know that I am fine and that I think it is cute that she was worried.

"Not so well, I'm afraid, _mon chere_…" I hear her make a sympathetic sound and press on, "I will be in town Thursday, and I seem to have reservations at Mystique, but no date. It is _very _distressing." She giggles on cue and I smile. Out of all of my friends in the city, she is my favorite. She is an engaging young woman barely in her twenties with the wit and confidence of an adult well beyond her years.

"Oh, well, I think I can fix that. What time should I be there?" She asks and I give her the time of our reservations. We agree to meet five minutes early and, though she wants to talk more, I tell her that, "I simply must be going, a coworker is waiting to use the phone as well." She isn't offended at all, and her voice is warm as she hangs up the phone.

I place the phone back on the hook before standing from the small stool and nodding to Engineer as I return to my room. If only Scout were there to listen and become jealous. I lock my door in case he attempts to come around to either apologize or continue the argument further, and begin answering my mail for the week.

**Stephanie is a real person who is really awesome and really special to me. Therefore, I am allowing her a lovely date with her prince charming.**


	12. Chapter 12

**This is where I announced that I'm starting another, closely related project. It will begin being posted as soon as I complete IGMP.**

The ride to town leaves everything to be desired. Personal space, thinking space and my integrity are utterly squished into the dirt as seven men pile into a van meant for eight. The statement shouldn't be so strange, but several of them are well beyond the average belt size for their stature. That being, I end up pinched between Demoman and Soldier. Heavy takes up two seats and Medic occupies the third- he is quite used to smelling like a stale sandwich. Sniper called "shotgun" as soon as we exited the building, so there was no way I could get out of my predicament (short of allowing myself to be bound to the top of the van, as Engineer kindly pointed out).

I have not spoken with Scout since our disagreement in his room. He tried my door that night, but did not call out to me, so I left it locked. Occasionally, I would catch him looking at me across the table at meals, but he would just turn his head and act as if he hadn't been staring at me longingly. I, however, know otherwise. It is the first time in our relationship that we have spent so much time apart, and I am sure that he would be missing me by now.

If Demoman had kept his big Afro-Scottish mouth shut.

It was not until the night before the trip that he plopped next to me at the dinner table, an anomaly in itself, and dug his elbow into my side. "So, who's yer big date for the trip, eh? Y'smiled twice, must be a real sweet laddie." I bristled when he made the comment and forced myself not to look at Scout, but rather at my plate.

I shrugged nonchalantly and chased a vegetable out of my potatoes-from-a-box. "I'm sure that _she _would prefer to be called a- what is it?- 'lassie' in your crude dialect." I replied snidely, taking the opportunity to glance at Scout as I brought my head up to sneer at Demoman. He laughed and thumped his hand against my back, used to my comments about his homeland. "Yes," I added, when he went back to eating. "She is quite sweet." I had seen Scout's face, a little glare, but he hadn't said anything yet. He wouldn't, and I knew it. He wouldn't make a scene in front of the team. I considered going by his room and explaining everything, but decided against it. He deserves a little anger after blowing me off.

He does not come to see me off on the trip to town, not even to tell me that I am an asshole and kick me in the shin. I am not sure if I want to see him- to know that he still cares or to tell me about the horrible person I am. I have a weight in my stomach, though I am not quite sure why. Perhaps it is because I have misjudged him, thought of him as a pliable little boy and not the young man that he really is. The thought lasts me the entirety of our journey and distracts me from the strong smell of some sort of God-awful American aftershave to my right and the stench of a thirsting alcoholic to my left.

Upon arriving, Engineer parks the van in a public lot and reminds us that we will be returning the following evening. I stay for a moment just for show before striking out on my way to the restaurant. I get strange looks, as usual, but they are just generally curious. A masked man in a nice suit is a curious sight among civilians. Mistique's sign is wooden and lit with blue lights from beneath the letters, giving it a flourish without being gaudy like many other restaurants with their neon signs and bright, blinking lights. There is a large window, allowing the front diners a view of the street, but there is a division behind those guests to allow the other patrons privacy. The door is glass, framed with ornate metal that curves in elegantly to frame the frosted restaurant name upon the clean, clear glass.

A woman is approaching the restaurant from the other way and I smile, quickening my step to gallantly open the door for her. She smiles, her dark eyes lighting up at the sight of me.

"Ah, Jaque, you always have such good timing." She comments, pecking my cheek and entering the restaurant. I slip in behind her and gently slip my arm around her shoulders, admiring the dark fur coat that she is wearing for the occasion. It matches her silky hair and I lean in to press a kiss to her cheek. She smells of lavender.

"And you, my dear, have such impeccable taste." I tell her, taking her coat for her and admiring the dress that she is wearing. Silver shimmers against the dark blue chiffon of the dress and I feel as if I am looking into the night sky moments before the blue turns to black. Silver and diamond pins hold her hair up from her pale neck and soft curls frame her distinctly oriental face. "As always," I add, handing the coat to a young man to be put away with the others. I do not have an overcoat myself, so we proceed to our table. The tables themselves are placed at a sufficient distance away from each other, to maximize quantity while keeping the guests a sufficient distance apart so as not to feel crowded or worry about the volume of a conversation being intrusive or overheard.

I wave off the host when he moves to pull out Stephanie's chair for her, and do it myself, waiting until she is seated before gently pushing her forward. My fingertips gently brush her shoulder as I circle around to take my own seat. She is smiling and blushing; I give her my own charming grin in response.

"Your server will be right with you," he assures us. I give him a wave of acknowledgement and turn my attention back to my date.

"So, how have you been, Jaque? I haven't heard from you in a few months- I was getting worried that you found someone prettier." Stephanie teases me, tucking a curling lock of hair behind her ear as she shifts in her chair, no doubt crossing her ankles as she folds her hands in her lap.

She is the perfect example of education and breeding- we have been friends for so long that I forget how I met her. "Oh, no, my dear, I couldn't even if I tried…" I assure her with a charming smile. She gives me a look as if she thinks that I'm lying and I raise my brows back to show my sincerity.

"So… handsomer?" She ventures, and I pause a moment, involuntarily looking away and incriminating myself. "Ah, is- oh, here comes the waiter." She holds up a slender finger and I wait for her to make a wine selection- she is a connoisseur, though she does not quite surpass my own exquisite taste, of course- before motioning for her to continue her interrogation.

"Is he a spy as well?" She asks, a twinkle in her eye and I bite back a sigh, just imagining all the farfetched theories going through her mind.

"Yes, and he is from a separate agency- we are so in love. However, we can never be! it is a tragedy much like Romeo and Juliet… I'm Romeo, in case you were wondering." I attempt to direct the conversation back to my own wit and charm, but she trudges onward.

"So that's a 'no.' " She seems disappointed and I smile.

"Well, if you would like, I can make the enemy Spy my next priority." She giggles and shakes her head.

"I don't need more competition for your affection, Jaque."

"Ah, but you have none at the moment. You should take advantage of it." Still trying to redirect the conversation. "How are your parents?" I ask, and she gives me a curious look before sighing and allowing me to tug the topic away from my own life.

We talk, drink and enjoy the night. I pay cash, as always, tip generously and escort her to the door.

I should actually amend my previous statement. She talked, we both drank and I attempted to enjoy the night. Even the fine wine could not chase Scout from my mind. I tried to drink in moderation as usual- I attempt to keep a hard mask of composure at all times, even when I am supposed to be enjoying myself- but my mind felt fuzzy and light by the time I raised my hand for the check.

I find things pushing themselves against my lips that I would never dare allow to leave my mouth. Emotions, fears, and the sob story that my boyfriend does not want to go on a date with me. I just want someone to listen to me talk for once- I want someone whom I can trust with information so personal and vital to who I am that they could ruin me if they wanted to, but they don't because they like me, love me, care for me.

I help Stephanie into her coat and smile at the host as he thanks us for our patronage. I realize that my life is very sad, very artificial, very daunting, though I repress the thought. I can enjoy permanence later, I always tell myself. I can find somewhere to retire and enjoy my fortune that I have amassed from this work in peace. I will not have any more worries.

I do not want any ties to my teammates or my job so that I can detach myself completely, request that my original records be incinerated and create a false identity that I can live under. That is why this thing with Scout can't be permanent. I have a life to live after this, and I do not want to be a target after I have left all this madness.

It has already lasted too long, I was planning on having a short fling in the beginning. Kissing him, drawing him in and then letting him go when he had had his fill- I was sure that he was a quick lover… that he would be over me in two weeks, perhaps a month. But now, several months later, we are still sleeping together, spending inordinate amounts of time in each other's rooms-

"Jaque, are you alright?" Stephanie asks, gently pulling my hand as she stops walking along the sidewalk. I stop walking and turn to face her, realizing that my face had been a thoughtful frown. The fear that stabs at me is whether it looked grave or not.

"Of course, whatever could be wrong, _chere_? I am with you." I tell her, stepping forward to gently brush one of her curls back from her face. I am exceedingly fond of this young woman, but I do not know how far I can trust her. I do not know how far I can trust anyone. Perhaps I should begin pushing Scout away as soon as we return to the base.

"Jaque, you're speaking flattery. What's on your mind? You can tell me…" Her words are meant to assure me, and I regard her determined dark eyes for a moment, considering telling her everything. She takes the mask as a quirk, she does not know for whom I work or what I do. I am a bisexual Frenchman who is an excellent listener with superb advice and sexual prowess. A mask is one point against me when everything else screams, "I am the sexiest man you will ever meet."

"I'm sorry, my dear. Perhaps we should pick this up another time, hm? I will call you the next time I will be in town." I tell her, then I notice that we are outside the hotel. I had passed right by the door, which is why she stopped me. I was so deep in my own thoughts that I did not even realize where we were.

"Jaque…" her hand tightens and her eyes plead with me to open up to her, to tell her everything and confide in her all my problems and worries, as she had in me for the past however-long-I-have-known-her. It is several years, perhaps five or six.

"_Mon chere_, you have been very good to me since we became acquainted." I tell her, pulling her into my arms and pressing my lips to her forehead. "However, I cannot do what you ask- it is for your safety, as well as my own."

"I know, but… I just wish that you would trust me with… well, anything. Is Jaque even your real name?" It wasn't the first time that it had come up, I forget how I circumvented telling her whether it was my real name or a pseudonym. I'm sure that the topic changes and excuses I used were brilliant, though.

I am too buzzed to think of any good ones at the moment. Drunkenness is something I only partake in when I want to think very hard about something or remind myself of all the depressing things that are in my life (e.g., not being able to trust anyone, doomed to never settle down, needing to quit this spy-game while I am ahead and anonymous, etc. etc.).

"No, it is a false name." I tell her, sighing and feeling her fight my arms. I release her and she steps away, no tears in her eyes but a firm expression upon her lips.

"Then tell me this…" Oh, God, if she asks me for my name I might begin to become annoyed with her. "Do you really like the man you're seeing?" It catches me off-guard so much that I find myself nodding before I can process my own answer. Whether I should lie or tell the truth or a half-truth. It's… very liberating to not contemplate every detail of my actions.

"Then why are you here? Why didn't you take him out tonight?" She asks a question that I finally have a concrete answer to, and I am quick to reply:

"He didn't want to come. I asked him to go on a date with me, but he refused." He hadn't even come with us to town, perhaps thinking that I might attempt to hang out with him and make him look like a fag. "He does not embrace his sexuality… and is afraid that two men sitting together in a restaurant might make him look like a 'faggot'—as he would put it."

"Then why not stay at his place and cook for him? Take something you made at your place and have a picnic in his living room or… well, wherever he lives." She makes it seem like it is so easy. So simple to come up with a solution to the problem rather than throwing in his face that I didn't need to ask him on the date, that I had other people more than willing to be seen in public with me.

I am a total douche bag.

"You are the most romantic man I have ever dated, Jaque… how can it be difficult for you to have seen those options?" She is right, of course.

"I… did not think of it." I admit, wondering how I could have missed this obvious solution. If he would not go out with me, then cook in for him. Instead of flaunting the fact that we were not exclusive, why not make do with what I had and do something even better than buying him food?

I am a selfish bastard.

"Why not? That sounds like you… something that you would think would be a good-"

"Because I was angry." I do not make it a habit to cut women off mid-sentence, but she made me realize just how much Scout's rejection had affected me. "He is so… young and closeted and handsome. So innocent, and yet he-" _bashes in skulls for a living, curses like a sailor and attempts to pilfer alcohol from the older teammates even though he is underage._

I see her watching me expectantly and I sigh. "I cannot talk about this to you… I want you to be safe."

She takes a deep breath and finally nods her head. "Well, the Jaque I know would go back to that young man and tell him that he respects his decision and would like to have a date at his place…" Stephanie had a mischievous smile on her lips and she leaned up to kiss my cheek. "Good night, Jaque."

"Goodnight, Stephanie. Perhaps next time you will be allowed to meet him." Though I doubt it, I still tell her all the same. I have probably damaged this relationship well beyond repair, but just in case I haven't, I would like for them to meet each other.

"Perhaps." She smiles and I swiftly step forward to open the door for her when I see her hand move up. The doorman had been curiously eyeing us, but he hadn't opened the door as of yet, since it looked like we were merely talking. He bumbles a bit before stepping forward, but I hold up my hand and nod for Stephanie to enter the hotel.

I wait a moment, watch her walk to the elevator and then I turn to hail a taxi.


	13. Chapter 13

The taxi ride is long and unpleasant, though- in comparison- it is much more enjoyable than the ride in the van. It is late when I arrive at the base. It took me fifteen minutes to convince the driver that I was not attempting to lure him out into the "boonies" and kill him. Our facility is an hour of driving east on a highway, and then an hour of navigating the back roads. It is completely understandable that no one would want to go out to a facility that they have never even heard of existing.

Sometimes, my mask just complicates things. An offer of a bonus on top of the fee and the possession of my gun and knife for the duration of the ride seemed to calm the man, and we began on our merry way back to base.

I watched the stars to keep me occupied, attempting to recall the constellations and star names. I can remember five languages and several dialects, but nothing came to mind as I stared up at the late-night sky. The mellow voices of the Beatles played on the radio, their music would not have been my first choice, but I kept quiet. It was one of those moments that I would rather just sit and endure the music rather than possibly touch another tenuous point with my driver.

Upon arriving, there are few lights on- one, precisely. The location perks my interest, but I pay the driver, collect my weapons and see him on his way before allowing myself to give it much thought. Once he begins to drive away, I turn and approach the chain link fence, complete with barbed wire flourish. Almost a habit, I press in my entrance code to the small box and wait for the gate to open. It rattles a little, but otherwise opens on oiled rails.

My shoes crunch through the gravel leading up to the base, seeming louder than the creak of the gate shutting behind me. There is little moonlight to light the way, but I know these grounds better than anyone else on my team. The door to the base stays unlocked- there is no need to lock it if there is a code-protected gate- so I let myself in. The first thing that strikes me is the smell of the base, and it makes me pause for a moment. The smell is homey, as if someone has been cooking or baking, possibly both.

Pyro is capable of such feats as cooking hamburgers or overdone cookies, but Scout has never touched the oven since he arrived at the base. This is far more experienced than anything those two could have attempted. It smells good, though, comforting. However, there is a more important matter at hand. It is time to investigate the light on in my room.

The door opens without sound and I slip in just as quietly. The hallway was eerie, quiet and dark, but the lamp near the window dimly lights my room. Scout is sprawled on my bed, staring up at a piece of paper. A hand holds the paper, and the other is tucked up to the knuckles in his pants line. The paper is one of my letters and his hand just has a habit of being in his pants, so I don't pay much attention to it.

"Nice to see that you've helped yourself to my desk." It doesn't take the entire statement for him to sit up and stare at me, petrified that he has crossed some sort of unspoken line. If we had only been together for a few weeks instead of months, he would have been. I dislike my privacy being jeopardized. However, since he cannot read French, I finish the statement calmly as I slowly pace over to retrieve the paper. It is encrypted, of course, using a Voltaire text as a key. Even if he knew French, he wouldn't be able to decipher it.

"I… uh… I got bored! and well… yeah, started looking around, maybe touched a few things…" He scratches the back of his head and looks away, his other hand resting on the remaining papers sitting in his lap. "Ain't you guys supposed to be gone 'til like… the day after tomorrow?"

His question is meek, like he is more than just embarrassed to have been caught in my bed, reading my letters. Perhaps he is afraid of m my wrath, I am not sure. I sit upon the edge of the bed and slip the papers away from him, glancing over them before leaning over to toss them gently onto my desk.

"Tomorrow night, actually, but I paid a considerable sum to a cab driver so that I could come back early." I tell him, resting my hand over one of his.

He looks up at me, grimaces and then his other hand comes up in a fist to my stomach. I allow it to happen, of course, he has every right to be angry with me and I deserve the full brunt of it. His fist pulls back and he hits me across the jaw as well. I feel a tooth cut the inside of my mouth and swallow on reflex. His next punch, I block. He follows it up with a series of more angry blows, but I finally get him pinned down with his arm behind his back and my weight pinning his legs.

"Scout, what was that about?" There is a laugh in my voice, though my jaw aches. I lash out verbally, intending to get to the bottom of this issue. Does he want to be with me or not? "Judging from how I walked in on you, I thought you would be happy to see me! Reading my letters to feel some link when I'm away, sleeping in my bed when you could just as easily have slept in your own… it really was a lovely dinner. You should have joined me." The fight has left him, and he just allows me to pin him, taking deep breaths against my sheets. It doesn't strike me until his shoulders start shaking that he's not really mad at me, just hurt and trying to hide it behind anger. My taunting him about it hasn't helped. "Scout…" I sigh and loosen my grip slightly.

His elbow flies back and into my ribs. It winds me, but I slap him in the back of the head to show my disapproval. My hand grips his hair and shoves his face down into the sheets. "Stop trying to hurt me, I just want to talk." My demand is breathy and my ribs ache, but I stay atop of him. His free arm goes limp on the bed, and he huffs out a sigh. "Okay?" I finally ask, letting go of his hair.

"Yeah, whatever…" His loose hand moves up to rub the back of his head and I release his other arm before lifting my weight from him and allowing him to slip his legs from beneath me. "Can't believe you thought I was really crying." His voice is light, as if he is laughing at me, but there is a thickness there, and it makes my throat dry up immediately. I swallow on impulse, glad that he has not yet turned around to see the sign of weakness.

"Yes… well, I didn't _really._" Lying to him is so much easier when I'm not trying to be believable.

"Yeah, whatever you say... faggot." He mumbles the last part and I sigh, unwilling to retaliate.

A moment of silence passes between us as he settles down on my bed, crossing his legs and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. It only lasts a few minutes, but I know it seems like at least half an hour to Scout. He fidgets most of the time, cracking his knuckles and shifting around as if he is having some difficulty getting comfortable. At last, the quiet becomes too much for him, and he clears his throat.

"… I'm gonna go… don't even fucking think of coming by my room tonight, 'right?" His tone makes him sound like he's angry, but he can't quite express it simultaneously on his face. He still looks as if there's something he wants to say to me, but his pride isn't allowing him to get it out.

"Of course..." I tell him, raising a hand to touch his cheek. He shies away and I force a smile to my lips instead of the frown that wants to show itself.

As he begins to stand, I think of something that might make him stay. Despite how I act, I know that I made a mistake (or two, I'm not counting). However, I cannot seem to admit it to him- especially not when he keeps trying to play it off as if it is nothing. "You aren't the least bit curious about my date?" It is a last ditch effort to get him to stay a little longer, to talk to me, and perhaps to smooth the way for my apology.

"No, _I ain't._" It is forceful, and completely unconvincing. I smirk and stand to follow him to the door. He needs to know that I will not give up so easily. I still have a chance to get him to stay. I am about to reply when he spins around and punches me again, harder, causing the cut on the inside of my cheek to bleed even more. I feel pain spark at the corner of my mouth and my tongue tenderly probes the cut that has opened there. I wipe at it with my thumb and sigh when I hear my door slam as Scout storms out. My opportunity is gone, and so is my lover.

I loosen my tie and reach into my jacket for a cigarette. In all my years of relationships, I have never had so much trouble from one young man.


	14. Chapter 14

This morning, my cheek and jaw feel quite swollen and sore. Scout was willing to punch me much harder than I thought. I refrain from touching my cheek, since it will only make it hurt worse and start a habit for the next few days that I will come to regret immediately.

I get up and retrieve clean clothing, then leave my room for the showers. I am not sure if I want t get used to the base being so quiet, though it is quite a nice change.

When I try the door to the shower room, however, it is locked. I sigh and roll my eyes, tired of the boy's tantrum already. Instead of picking the lock- though I could have easily if I wanted to- I go back to my room and wait for him to finish his shower. Last night has convinced me that I cannot push him into forgiving me. Another misjudgment on my part and it is a shame that I hate sucking up.

I give him twenty minutes before approaching the shower room again, but it is still locked. I wonder if he might have locked it behind him after leaving just to spite me, but I hear noise inside still, the wet clap of footsteps and a voice. I can't make out the words, but the voice isn't raspy enough to be Pyro's, or deep enough to be any other team member's. The circumstances bear the question: why would he spend more than half an hour in the shower?

After a moment of standing and listening, I sigh and finally knock on the door.

"Scout, what are you doing in there?" _Thinking of me?_ is something that I want to add on, but under the _not pushing_ circumstances, I leave it out.

The voice and footsteps inside stop, and all I hear is running water against the tiles. After a few breathless minutes, during which the voice and footsteps start again, I give up on getting an answer and decide to shower later in the day.

Back in my room and sans mask, I can see the swelling in my mirror, as well as an ugly bruise forming on my cheek. I rinse my mouth out with bottled water and clean the dried blood from the corner of my mouth. By the time I put my mask back on, I look normal. The mask hides most of the bruising and the swelling isn't too apparent. I make a mental note to break into the infirmary after breakfast for a cold compress.

I take my time tying my tie, hoping to catch Scout in the hall or the kitchen. Perhaps I will even give him the chance to scurry back to his room. Picking the lock to his room seems less pushy than barging in on him in the showers, anyway. We have quite a bit to talk about, and I would prefer that he isn't slipping around and yelling at me about being a pervert or something else utterly ridiculous.

When I emerge from my room, I can smell breakfast cooking. Either Scout has talents that none of us knew of, or there is, in fact, a visitor on base. I mull it over as I pass the couch and see Scout's arm thrown across the back of it. It makes more sense, I suppose, than Scout taking more time on anything, much less showering. I'm sure I've timed him to have a maximum shower time of twenty minutes.

I follow my nose to the kitchen and lean against the doorjamb, silently observing the dress-clad bombshell in front of the stove. Her dress color matches the shade of Scout's t-shirt and I wonder if she wears it to support her son, or if the company forces her to wear it so that if she is seen by a teammate, he will know that she is on our side. It is obvious to me now why he stayed here instead of going into the city with us. It was not to spite me, or because he was afraid to be seen with me in public.

His dear mother is here to visit.

I smile and consider my options. I can either clear my throat as a way to announce my presence, wake up Scout and allow him to introduce me, or do things the Spy way and not let her know that I'm in the room until I am standing right next to her. I silently make my way forward, the smell of pancakes and bacon growing stronger as I intentionally allow one of my dress shoes to clack on the tile floors as it comes down from taking a step. She jumps, predictably, and whirls to confront me with a batter-covered ladle. Very intimidating, I assure you.

"I am sorry if I startled you, madam." I tell her, giving her a charming smile and wiping some of the batter from my suit jacket where it splattered. She looks stunned for a moment before her hand covers her mouth and she snaps back into action.

"Oh, no! I'm so sorry, I wasn't expecting Scout to be up yet, and he told me that no one else was here..." Her voice is thickly accented, even more so than Scout's. I chuckle, waving her apology off when she reaches for a towel to help me clean off my suit. My hand catches hers, and I press a light kiss to her knuckles, my other hand taking the towel from her loose grip and hanging it back on the cabinet.

"Do not worry; it is less trouble to just change my jacket." As I tell her this, I attempt to sound as kind as possible. Under normal circumstances, I would be cross with someone that has dirtied my suit- the dry cleaning is taken out of my pay- but in this situation, it would greatly benefit me to have this woman like me.

Her smile looks relieved and she blushes as she pulls her hand slowly back.

"Sh-" she pauses and seems to be mentally chastising herself. "Scout said there wasn't anyone here except himself and… Pyro, is it?" She looks at me curiously, and I realize that she thinks that I might be Pyro.

"Oh, no… no, madam," a chuckle slips out and a shake my head. Me, _Pyro_. Hah. "I am Spy. I came back early… because I had some unfinished business left here- I didn't really deserve a weekend away from work." I tell her.

She smiles and nods, as if that is a satisfactory explanation. "Scout assured me that the other guy wouldn't come out of his room while I was here." She explains, turning back to the stove and flipping over the pancakes in the pan. They are a lovely golden brown dotted with dark blots of blueberry and smell heavenly.

"I understand- you weren't expecting anyone." I chuckle lightly and remove my jacket, laying it across the back of a chair.

"Yeah… Scout likes to let you know when he comes into a room, y'know?" She winks at me and I chuckle at her joke at the expense of her son.

"That he does…" I agree because it is true, Scout doesn't know the meaning of a silent entrance. "How long are you staying for, Ms…?"

"Your bosses told me that we can't use names here, so…" she shrugged helplessly and rolled her eyes, "just call me 'Ma,' I suppose."

" 'Ma' it is, then. I am Spy." I reply, glad that I had not put my shoulder holster on before leaving my room. It is quite rude to converse with a lady while having a gun on full display.

Her smile is warm, and I can see the similarities in her face and her son's. Their eyes are the same shade of grey, and their bone structure is very similar. Her hair is darker, though I am not sure if it is naturally so.

"So, Spy, how long have you been working with Scout?" The question is casual, and I mull over it for a moment politely.

"Oh, he has only been here for a few years… two, I believe. Has he been working for the company longer than that?" I had been curious about Scout before, but asking questions of a lover was something that I rarely did. When one doesn't want to be questioned, one refrains from questioning.

She laughs lightly and shakes her head as she removes the pancakes to an already heaping plate. "Oh, Lord, no. He applied as soon as he turned eighteen." I feel a smile flash across my face before I can tamp it down.

"Yes, that _does _sound like him." I say in order to cover myself. What is really going through my mind is the astonishment that Scout is twenty years old and that I thought he was at least four years older. The smile that slipped past me isn't one of humor, or endearment toward a coworker laughably younger than myself. It's about the fact that I have been sleeping with a boy young man half my age, and am amiably talking to his mother while she makes blueberry pancakes for breakfast.

I can honestly say that I haven't been in a stranger situation.

"Is there anything I can do to help with breakfast?" I ask, watching her ladle fresh batter into the pan.

"I think Scout's still asleep on the couch. Maybe start getting him woken up. By the time I get there the fight should be half over."

"… the fight?" I am curious, but I leave it alone and turn to walk back into the common room. Scout's arm has moved from the back of the couch to over his eyes and I stand there, considering him for a moment. He is still fully clothed, aside from his belt and shoes. His shirt is raised slightly, as if he had been scooting down the couch as he slept, and his long legs are bent, one lying flat and the other perpendicular to it.

After a few seconds, I finally kneel down next to him and gently shake his shoulder. "Scout, wake up." Normally, he would be awake after I touched him, but the boy stays under even after I intensify my shaking. "Scout," I say a little louder. I hear his mother's soft laugh from the kitchen and look up to make sure that she isn't watching before I lean down and kiss his ear. He shifts slightly and I smile, kissing him again before shifting down to his jaw. He mumbles and pushes at me with the arm thrown over his eyes before rolling over and pressing his face into the back of the couch.

I think it's cute as I watch him curl up tighter. It isn't long until he is settled back into sleep again. I raise my hand to pull his shirt back down over the pale skin peeking out at me. After a moment of consideration, I stand and return to the kitchen to admit defeat.

"Is there some sort of trick to waking him?" I ask, surprised that such a bout of social regression would occur solely from a visit from his mother. I don't want to tell her that it is unusual for him, since a normal teammate wouldn't know whether he is easy or difficult to wake up.

"None of them are pleasant." She warns me with a soft laugh. "I doubt that he would want ice water thrown on him when he doesn't have to be at school or a game in ten minutes."

"That is very cruel, _mon chere_… I think I will try again before allowing you the pleasure." Since Scout doesn't usually sleep like a dead rock, I am not sure how to wake him from the semi-coma he seems to be in, but I have several things that I want to try.

I hear her giggle as I leave the kitchen again, and smile to myself. Mission accomplished, my lover's mother likes me. I stand and watch Scout for a moment, trying to decide what to try first. I'm not enjoying watching him sleep at all, that's silly and ridiculous.

My first attempt is to try shaking him again. It doesn't seem to really faze him, though he does mumble a little. Next, I pull his arm away from being curled against his chest and pull him so that he's sitting up. I see his brows drop and one of his eyes half-opens.

"Spy, what the fuck're you doin'?" His question is well founded, since he stormed out of my room last night. However, I answer it by pulling him up and allowing my half-awake lover to lean against my chest while I speak.

"Waking you up. Your mother seems to think that I cannot accomplish it in less time than it takes for her to finish making the bacon and pancakes." I explain, glancing up at the door to the kitchen. I can still hear the sizzle of bacon, and a soft humming, so I assume that she is still preoccupied with making breakfast.

"Hmm… smells good." He mumbles, nuzzling into my chest with a yawn. Well, he was partially awake, and that was a start.

"Indeed." I agree, attempting to get him to stand on his own with my hands on his arms. The humming in the kitchen seems to have stopped, but Scout doesn't seem any more interested in standing on his own. "Would your mother believe that we are just friends if she came in and saw you snuggling into me? For that matter," I sadly have to continue this train of thought, since it will be most likely to get him off me, "are you still mad at me for being a jerk last night?" His head comes up to look me in the eyes and he looks confused for a moment before he sneers and pushes away from me.

"Hell yeah, I am! What makes you think—!" I shush him with my hand on his mouth, and he rips it off with an angry, "fuck you, man!" He lowers his voice for the next part, thankfully. "What makes you think I'd forgive you that easy?"

"Nothing, I just wanted you to wake up." I tell him, pulling my hand back from his own. I smile a little as I turn to walk back to the kitchen. Before I make it to the door, however, I feel a fist hit my kidney and curse several times in French.

"You're still an asshole." He announces as he strides through the door and leaves me attempting not to fall on the floor.

"Doesn't your mother _care_ that you curse like a thirteen year old?" I ask, holding my lower back until I am finally able to stand and deal with my pain like a gentleman. I follow him into the kitchen and, judging from the way that she was looking at Scout pointedly, Ma did care.

"Yeah, but he deserves it, Ma. Spy's a real douche." He plopped into a chair and flung his arm over the back, trying to look nonchalant and perhaps a little innocent in the face of his mother's disapproval.

"Your son isn't a morning person, is he?" I ask, maturely making a face at Scout when his mother's back is turned. She sighs and I take that as a very sarcastic phrase that concludes with Scout not being a morning person at all. It's strange, because he was actually very pleasant in the mornings when we used to sleep together.

Scout's face looks strangely thoughtful when I look back at him, but as soon as he sees me looking at him, his entire demeanor changes, and he seems to hate me again. I push away the feeling that he was thinking the same thing I had been and sit a good distance away from him so that there is little to no chance he can kick me beneath the table.

"You want pancakes and bacon?" She asks offhandedly, though she doesn't direct it at either of us.

"Yeah, we want both, Ma." Scout answers for me, stretching and rubbing his hair, not helping his bed head situation at all.

"Yes, thank you, madam." I say, unwilling to allow Scout's vulgar and disrespectful manners to speak for me. She tosses me another warm smile and I give her a small lift of the corner of my mouth. When I turn back to face the table, I see Scout looking at me as if he would like to hit me again. I raise a brow at him and he flips me off before folding his hands in front of him and looking up expectantly at his mother as she brings us our breakfast.

"So, Spy, how long have you been working here?" Ma asks, setting syrup and butter on the table and taking the seat next to me. Scout scowls and slides his plate over a few spots before following it so that he can sit beside his mother.

"Oh, a while…" I watch Scout snatch the butter and syrup and I frown, reaching over to take them back. I hand the two containers to Ma and glare back at Scout when he gives me a dirty look. "Longer than Scout has been a man, anyway."

Ma giggles and Scout kicks me beneath the table. "Not my fault you're old as shit."

"Kick me again, and I'll make sure the whole team knows all of your deepest secrets, Scout." He still glares at me, but he seems to have stopped trying to be a little asshole for a moment. I swear, he's acting exactly like he did before the first time we kissed. However, I'm not sure if he's flirting with me this time.

"You guys get along well, huh?" Ma comments and nudges me.

"Oh, yes. Splendidly…" I wink sideways at her and she giggles again. Scout scowls, and steals a piece of bacon from my plate.

"Every time you flirt with my mom, I'm taking some of your food." He warns me, seeming to use it as a substitute for kicking me.

"Scout, I'm not flirting with your mother." Looking back on my actions now, I suppose that I might have been a _little_ too friendly with Scout's mother.

"Dude, bullshit." Scout grumbles around a mouthful of pancake and bacon. It's as if he doesn't even think about swallowing until after he's done talking.

"Scout, be reasonable…" Ma tells him, as if that will get him to stop cursing and being confrontational about nothing.

"Whatever." Scout mutters, cramming the last quarter of his plate of pancakes in his mouth. He hops over the table and presses his sticky mouth to his mother's cheek before walking off.

"Well, that was—" Scout ducks between us and steals another piece of my bacon. I wait until he really leaves this time before continuing, "… that was nice. Is he usually like this?"

"He's a little sensitive when I'm around men…" she tells me, wiping her cheek with her napkin and sighing. I look at the door that Scout had just disappeared through thoughtfully. Perhaps that is why he was so hostile. If he wasn't mad at me earlier, he certainly is now…

"Ever since his father… well, you probably don't want to—"

"Oh, no, please…" This might be my only chance to learn about Scout without asking him directly. I must seize the opportunity. "Go on," I encourage her, resting a kind hand on her shoulder. She smiles and blushes lightly before nodding.

"Well, he doesn't like me talking about it..." There is obviously more, and I wait for her to elaborate. First, without prompting, and then, when she doesn't go on, I slip my arm around her shoulders and give her a slight squeeze.

"Come… let's clean up while we talk?" I find that aiding in a menial task can help to uncover even the most well guarded subjects. Things that nobody likes to talk about seem more open to discussion when two people aren't just sitting with awkward silences butting in. If activity fills those silences, talking comes easier.

I wipe my mouth and stand, offering a hand to her with a kind smile. She takes my hand and stands. She is not the type to allow me to offer to do all the work, so I go fifty-fifty and suggest, "I'll get the dishes if you get the butter and syrup."

"Sure, thanks." Ma smiles and nods before moving to take the bottle and tub while I collect the dirty plates and silverware. Her plate and my own still contain a few scraps of food while Scout's has barely a crumb left in the depths of its pool of syrup.

"_De rien_," I reply, smiling and carefully balancing Scout's plate atop of our two. The syrup is threatening to spill over the sides of the plate, and it takes most of my concentration to keep the syrup from spilling over and onto my shoes. Even with the distraction, however, I still manage to smoothly navigate myself around Scout's mother on my way to the sink.

"Washing or drying?" She asks, putting the syrup up in the cabinet before coming over to stand next to me at the sink.

"Preference?"

"You wash."

"_Merde_, I was hoping you would be one of those lovely ladies that doesn't trust a man to properly cleanse a plate." I joke, miming reluctance as I unbutton the cuffs of my sleeves and begin rolling them up.

"I taught all eight of my boys how to wash dishes. If you need any pointers, just let me know, hon." She winks at me and I chuckle good-naturedly.

"I shall." I reply, beginning to run warm water into the sink. "So, Scout's father… call me nosey, but I'm extremely curious about the man behind the brash, egotistical little baseball nut."

This gets a smile and a soft laugh from her. "Yes, well… there are seven _young men_ behind him, but no _man_… his father left when he was very young. Scout barely knew him, but he took it hard." Her smile is a little sadder, and I rest a comforting (dry) hand on her shoulder as an encouragement for her to continue.

"We weren't planning to have kids, it just happened… and then it happened again and happened again…" she shook her head and I realize that I'm not washing the dishes yet. I quickly busy my hands and nod as she begins to speak.


	15. Chapter 15

**So, I finally went back over the first chapter and will be going through the rest of my previous chapters as well. The edited first chapter is up, though! I'll post the other edited chapters when I get back from my vacation. Finally getting away from work… feels so good :)**

* * *

Soon after she started telling me all about Scout's father, I realized that Scout didn't get his talkative side from the man in question at all. She told me everything I could possibly want to know about his relationship with Scout. One thing that I have always loved about talking to women: they are always eager to volunteer information**; **they don't need to be coerced or manipulated at all. By the time we finish the last dish, she has told me about three of her eight sons and their individual relationships with their father.

She seems sad when she talks about him, like he left a hole in her life that she has been either struggling to fill, or struggling to forget. "It's been thirteen years now," she whispers as she shifts closer, setting her towel down on the edge of the sink. "I keep telling myself that I need to forget him, though." I raise my hand to gently rest on her shoulder and the moisture still on my hand darkens her dress. Her lips turn up in a soft smile and her hand comes up to rest over my own. "… that I don't need him."

"Hm… There are some men that are hard to forget, my dear." She smiles at the endearment and takes a deep breath.

"Yes, well… he just had this draw about him. The way he spoke, his attitude—larger than life…" Ma shakes her head and her smile falters. Her voice is soft, not as strong and confident as it had been when she first started talking.

"That sounds familiar," I tell her, my lips twitching into a fond smile. It sounded just like Scout, after all. I feel uneasy for a moment, wondering when I had become quite so soft toward him. After all,I can still remember a time when I wasn't fond of anything; a time when thinking of Scout and his quirks didn't cause me to feel a swelling in my chest.

She moves closer still and I suddenly realize that she is_ too_ close, we're almost touching and her hand is gently holding my own on her shoulder. Have I become so used to Scout's forward advances that the coy and subtle actions of a beautiful woman fly right past me? I try to withdraw my hand, step away, do anything to counteract what I accidentally started. She leans closer and I raise my hand to her other shoulder, gently pushing her back and trying not to offend her at the same time.

"Please, madam… I already have someone…"I am unsure how to word apologies, though I should be getting more used to the process through my interactions with Scout. I am equally unsure how to word my explanation without giving any details. She draws back a minute amount and I smile a bit helplessly.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" My push turns into a less-than-gentlemanly shove, forcing her back and turning to see Scout standing in the doorway, looking as if he would like to murder me- very violently at that.

"You do _not_ speak like that to _me_, young man." Ma says in a tone I had not yet heard from her. I see an instant reaction from Scout, the rage is replaced by an awkward, apologetic expression and he shuffles in the doorway.

"Ma, I wasn't talkin' to you, I was… he's… Seriously, Ma, Spy ain't like he acts. He just acts all suave and shi—stuff, I mean…" He looks away for a moment and I can only imagine how unimpressed with his quick save she must appear, but my eyes are locked on him, wondering what he will tell her. Does he really believe that I would do something so unforgiveable as seduce his mother?

"What are you talking about?" She asks him, releasing my hand and stepping around me with her hands on her hips.

"I mean he isn't a good guy, Ma. He'll just… like…" He takes a breath and gives me a glare. "He's just like dad… I don't want…"

"Oh, Scout…" Her tone tells me that her disapproval is fading and she is seeing what he wants her to see, a boy trying to protect his mother from a man with an unfaithful past. If I were not so impressed, I might be indignant. "You don't have to worry, Honey, Spy was just telling me that he already has a girl." She drops her hands from her hips and takes a step forward to cup his face in her hands. I can imagine that she's smiling; I am too.

"Yes… a _lovely_ girl." I smirk at him past his mother's head and he stares at me in disbelief, perhaps just surprised that his misguided half-truth worked. A part of his expression might be an apology, though I cannot be sure.

"Oh… okay…" He wraps his arms around her waist and hugs her**, **still looking at me like he doesn't know what to do now. His chin rests on her shoulder and her hand ruffles the back of his hair gently. I lean back against the counter, crossing my arms and watching them. She mutters something to him and kisses his forehead as she pulls away.

"Well, then. I'm going to go pack. A truck should be here after lunch to take me back to the train station. Play nice, boys." She adds, wagging her finger at us as she leaves the room.

I wait until she is well down the hallway before I push off the counter and raise a brow at Scout. "Were you afraid that I would leave you for your mother?" I ask, hoping that he's not really that faithless in my affection for him. I suppose under the circumstances, it is a fair assumption.

"No!" He says it quickly, though. The blush on his cheeks betrays him.

"Oh, come here." I tell him, rolling my eyes and stepping forward to pull him into my arms. "Scout, I am sorry that I went out with my friend and lead you to believe that I was cheating on you. I was angry. I felt as if you had rejected me, and I do not deal with rejection well at all." He shifts in my arms so that he is staring up at me. "I am not used to it and it frustrated me. You should have just told me that she was coming and I would have made other plans, or stuck aroun-"

"That's why I didn't tell you, I was afraid that you might start hitting on my ma or something… she has a habit of picking bad guys to date. You think I would want _you_ to meet my ma when she's _single_?" He snorts and begins to pull back from my embrace.

"I suppose not… my reputation isn't sterling, I suppose."

"Dude, when we went to the city, you would end up going out with a new girl every damn time. Sometimes I think I'm just your base bitch or something!" Scout's voice cracks like he's about to start crying (or something silly like that) and I pull him back into my arms. That is supposed to help matters, isn't it? Why didn't it help earlier?

"Of course not. Otherwise, why would I ask you to go out with me?" I ask, allowing him to pull back again, but just far enough to look up at me. "You need to think more often." I tell him, pressing my lips to his forehead and releasing him.

"Yeah, well… you need to stop being such a _dick_!"

"Scout!" His mother shouts from his room.

"Perhaps we should leave this discussion for later." I tell him, patting his cheek before I begin to roll down my sleeves. I walk over to retrieve my jacket from the chair upon which I had left it and drape it over my arm.

"Yeah… right." He mutters before turning to walk down the hall at a quick pace.

I sigh and watch him walk away, unsure how I can really fix the rift that I caused with my little stunt. Perhaps I shouldn't. The thought isn't appealing, though, so I steel myself. I need to fix this, I can't let myself run away.

As I enter my room, I can hear Scout and his mother arguing down the hall, though they might just be having a conversation. The way that Scout speaks in a normal conversation is easily mistakable for an argumentative tone.

Once inside, I fold my jacket away with my other dirty clothes and move to sit at my desk chair. My own parents… I can scarcely remember their address, and they might have moved in the past ten years. I open my drawer, peer in at my blank stationary and wonder what I would write if I cared to. I doubt that they are thinking of me, anyway. I shut the drawer again and rub my temples.

* * *

I awake from my nap to the feeling of someone watching me. I realize that I have probably slept past lunch, and it feels as if it is several hours past. When I open my eyes, I see only my wall. The window shows that the sun is low in the sky,and I realize that it is more than a few hours past noon. The first stars of twilight wink at me from the dark blue taking over the hues of the sunset. I turn my head and see Scout sitting in my chair, watching me. He couldn't have been there for more than a few minutes. I hope not, anyway.

"Hello," I say.

He just raises his hand to wave back at me before lowering it again. Of course, he can't sit normally and is straddling it backwards. I sit up and pull my mask off to rub my hand through my hair, trying to make it a little neater, but there is no doubt that I only mess it up more. His expression changes when he sees the bruise, perhaps feeling guilty.

We sit in silence for a few moments, just staring at each other, and I am sure that it is the longest he has been both still and silent in several years while conscious. Finally, it becomes too much even for me and I sigh.

"Scout, your mother is a lovely woman-"

"Yeah, whatever, you probably like women more than guys anyway." It must have been what was on his mind this whole time; wondering if, in the future, I would chose a woman over him.

"Please stop pushing me away, Scout. It's rude."

"I'm not pushing you away, I'm pissed off at you because you're a dick!" He stands and his hands grip the back of the chair as if it is the only thing keeping him from hitting me- again. "You're always a dick and nobody fucking cares!"

"You are always-" I stop myself before I make his anger even worse and purse my lips. "Scout, if this is about what I said before…"

"Is that all you ever think about? That I'm too much of a virgin to screw you?" He asks, his hands gripping the wood harder.

"No, it isn't." I tell him, glad that I am still an expert at manipulating conversations, I don't generally need to employ the skill, but when I have a lover that refuses to tell me what is wrong… well, I must use my own resources.

"Bull shit! You keep acting like you fucking like me and that you're okay with all this going slow and shit… The girl you went out with was probably way quicker'n me, huh?" His expression is a mixture of hurt and arrogance, but all I can see is that he just insulted one of my dearest friends. Before I even realize that I have stood, I am in front of him and my hand is raised. I'm angry and I know that he can see it. His eyes are defiant, scared, and triumphant all at once.

"Listen, you little brat. I told you that I went out with a _friend_. This means that I bought dinner and enjoyed the conversation. Something I would have done with _you_ if _you_ had accompanied me. We chatted about you, about how much of a mistake it was for me not to stay here and spend the days off with you. I escorted her to the hotel and then got a taxi back here so that I could _apologize_ of all things. You have known me long enough to know that—no, even if you haven't, I'm telling you now—_I do not apologize_." He is shrinking away from me now, but my hands are on his on the back of the chair, gripping perhaps a little tighter than necessary, but I can't stop myself. If he had insulted me, that would have been fine. Silly and childish, but fin. However, to insult my friend without even having met her?

"If I wanted to have sex with you, Scout, I would have bedded you ages ago. _Months_. Back when you wanted it, just because you were curious and thinking '_why not_?' I didn't, though. I waited until you wanted to take it farther on your own. At first I was just playing around, trying to get you to come around yourself, but then I started feeling affection and happiness and things that I hadn't even _wanted_ in the first place." His eyes are glazed over with tears and I have a brief fear that I'm hurting him before my rage pushes it away. I haven't set any boundaries up before now, but this is one of them.

"When you realized that I was playing with you, you told me not to. I tried my hardest, slipped a few times out of habit, but otherwise I did as you asked. I didn't play with your head, I didn't manipulate you into anything prematurely. I thought I was doing well, decided to romance you a little because you deserved something for putting up with my silly games. You rejected my offer, and I was angry, I thought it was me, but it was really just you and your insecurities about your beautiful mother. I suppose my naturally flirtatious nature didn't help when interacting with her, and I might have _accidentally_ mislead her, but I stopped it and-"

"Spy, stop… just… just fucking stop, man…" Scout rips his eyes from mine and hides his face, the top of his head touching my chest.

I do stop, realizing that I have completely lost my composure. Everything that I have felt in the past few months, everything that Scout has made me feel has roiled out and flooded into the open. I take a deep breath and feel the pounding in my ears recede. My jaw hurts where he punched me and I have no doubts that my blood pressure is through the roof. I don't speak until I feel something wet hit my hand that is still gripping his in a tight grasp. I carefully loosen my hands, and realize that I had grabbed his hands in order to keep him from running away.

He turns to bolt, but I snatch his arm and pull him to my chest, holding him tight. I do not let go, even as he struggles and kicks at me. I just close my eyes and rest my uninjured cheek against his hair. It seems we have both been repressing some… issues.

It takes several minutes, but he finally calms down. My shins are throbbing, but I ignore it.

It isn't important.

Right now, all that matters is that if I even loosen my grip, Scout will dart out my door never to be seen again. My mind races as I try to collect myself. After such an outburst, I'm off-kilter and unsure what to do. How do I keep this young man from leaving this room and never coming back?

Yes, I'm angry with him, but I am partially to blame for his distrust and I curse myself for it. How was he supposed to know the difference between a woman that I have a healthy relationship with and one that I will probably only see for that single night?

Before I can say anything, I feel his lips move against my chest and I tentatively loosen my arms so that he can speak.

"I'm sorry…" he mumbles, his voice thick with distress. I take a deep breath and hold it for a moment before letting it slowly out.

"So am I." I tell him, my voice strained and grave sounding. I am attempting to sound sincere, but failing.

"Shit, you're not breaking up with me, are you?" He asks, pushing against my chest and staring up at me with wet, red eyes that only a heartless sociopath could turn away from. What was I, if I wasn't a sociopath? By definition, I shouldn't have feelings. However, I suppose I care for Stephanie—it is more obvious now. Now, as Scout stands here, blubbering at me, I cannot bear to see him like this.

"No. I'm not breaking up with you." I tell him, unable to control the way my voice sounds. I want it to sound relieved and reassuring, but all I get is a dead-ringing monotone. It's as if I'm tired and can't bring myself to sound any other way. Most of all, it's annoying.

"Then why do you sound like you want to?" He whispers, seeming to fear my answer even as he asks the question. I sigh and clear my throat, trying to—I freeze when I feel something wet streak down my cheek. I look up, but there isn't any sign of water on the ceiling. I look to my window, it's beginning to darken, but it isn't raining outside- that's just the sun setting.

I loosen my arms completely from Scout and raise my hand to wipe at the moisture, staring at my fingertips as if they hold a mystical substance. Scout stands there, watching me stare at my fingers and raises his arm to wipe his own eyes. "Heh, what a pussy- you're crying too."

"It seems so." I agree, wiping my hand on my pants and realizing that there is a cold, wet patch on my shirt. There is snot probably mixed in with it and I let out a soft, unimpressed, "hm…"

"Oh, shit, sorry…" he wipes at my chest as if it will help, but I gently push his hands away before beginning to unbutton my shirt as I turn away, unable to stare into those eyes any longer, lest it happen again.

"Do not bother with it; it is almost time to sleep anyway." He's silent behind me, and I wonder if, perhaps, I missed hearing him leave. I turn to see him still standing there silently and raise my brow.

"Uh… I should… probably sleep in my room tonight, yeah?" He asks, scuffing his foot against the floor and refusing to meet my gaze.

I consider my options, give him total hope and allow him to sleep here, or reject him and make him feel as if I resent him, robbing him of a night's sleep with worry of what will come.

I take a step forward and rest my hands on his shoulders, waiting for him to look up at me. When he doesn't, I gently pull his chin up and venture a smile. "Sleep in your own room for tonight, and tomorrow, we will start over properly. Alright?"

The smile he gives me makes my chest do something strange, and I smile back until he kisses my cheek and leaves the room. Once he has left, my smile drops and I'm left alone with my thoughts.


	16. Chapter 16

**Happy Easter, everyone!**

**So, all of the previous chapters have been gone through and edited to fix a few inconsistencies and stuff. Thanks to everyone who's stuck around so far, y'all's support is so appreciated!**

**(Edit: To those of you who might have gotten to it before I caught it, I uploaded the unedited chapter the first time, but now it is the correct one. Sorry about that! Also, please ignore any improbable game mechanics... I haven't played in a year or two.)**

* * *

It wasn't long after Scout had left my room that our teammates returned. I was tinkering with the lock on the medical bay when I heard the front door open. To be fair to myself, the lock is designed to keep even the most resourceful of Spies out. Several of my classmates seem to have a fondness for narcotics, which forced our mutual employer to place more emphasis on security with us in mind. If a Spy can't get in, neither can anyone else. Save blasting the doors, of course.

I pocketed my lock pick set and lit a cigarette, waiting for Medic to make his way to his infirmary. It didn't take the man long, and he seemed in good humor as he rounded the corner.

"Ah, Heavy was afraid that Engineer might have left you in town." He commented as he unlocked the door before waving me in.

"How kind of him to worry..." I replied, rolling my eyes. I disliked the man, not because of his girth or intelligence (he is actually quite smart and, dare I say, _witty_ when speaking his own tongue), but because he was the reason that Medic would never come to my aid during battles. I know that they are meant to be friends, but _really_. If I am dying over here and Heavy will be fine without him for five minutes over there, the least Medic can do is his _job_ and find me.

"You are one of his comrades. If it were not for him, I am sure that Engineer would have left without Soldier or Demoman." He chuckled softly and traded his dinner jacket for his lab coat. "Now then, I assume that there is a reason you were trying to pick my lock again?"

His shrewd observation brought a smile to my lips and I took a long drag from my cigarette. "Yes, well… Scout punched me rather hard, and the swelling and soreness is beginning to annoy me." I told him, raising my fingers to my injured jaw.

"Well, I am sure that you deserved it, _ja_?" Medic had the indecency to laugh at my misfortune and began rummaging through his cabinets. I made a non-committal noise and studied my cigarette while he searched.

"He was overreacting in my opinion, but I might have provoked him at some point." I discretely put out my cigarette on the edge of his desk and dropped the butt into the trash as he straightened.

"Be more sensitive, then." He advised me, handing me a cold compress. "I am not going to use my gun for bruises- that is a waste of resources. Also, I am not a supply dispenser."

"Yes, yes, Doctor, I know." I smiled good-naturedly and tucked the compress in my jacket before leaving the infirmary. Our Medic is shrewd, and perhaps a little better informed than the rest of our team. He is not the type to say anything unless it begins to inconvenience him or deter our team's progress, though, which is something that I do like about him.

The compress was uncomfortable, but I kept it on my jaw anyway. Sandwiching it between my masked cheek and my pillow makes it a little more bearable, and I eventually drift off to sleep.

* * *

At breakfast, Scout seems to have all but forgiven me. He sits next to me and talks with the rest of the team, listening to what mischief Demoman and Soldier got into during the trip. It is hardly different from what normally happens, but since he wasn't with them, I suppose he is afraid that he missed out on something new and exciting.

It is the same "get drunk, gamble and fight" story that they always tell, but Scout manages to summon just as much enthusiasm for their antics as usual. It's as if he is hearing the story for the first time. Somehow, it's endearing to watch him laughing at the stories like this. I feel eyes on me and turn my eyes to Medic, who is watching my face with a very thoughtful expression.

I realize that my lips were curving in a small smile of my own and that I had been watching Scout for quite some time during breakfast. I quickly drop my smile and raise my brows at Medic. He smiles back before returning to his breakfast.

I glance at the rest of the team to make sure that they didn't see, but their focus is on the two story-tellers. My hand brushes against Scout's leg and I stand up to take my dishes to the sink. I do not need to slip up like that again, especially not in front of the team.

The respawn room is quiet and peaceful as I sit on one of the benches puffing on a cigarette. My eyes are closed, and I do not hear him approach but I am only a little surprised when I feel a gentle weight lean against my shoulder and arm. I raise my arm to rest around Scout, and he leans into my side.

"I want to sleep with you tonight, barely got any freakin' sleep last night." He mumbles, sighing.

I don't say anything, just let him rest against me and study what little is left of my cigarette. For some reason, I feel better now than I have in the past several weeks. Things with Scout seemed strained even before we fought; I suppose it might have started when the word "love" first appeared.

This is a peaceful moment, a rare thing between us. However, it is soon broken by the clamor of our teammates in the hallway and Scout reluctantly removes himself from my side. My cigarette has burned itself out, and I flick it into the trashcan in the corneras the rest of the team files in. To make myself appear busy and to keep my disappointment at bay, I stand and check that all of my weapons are in order and easily accessible for the battle.

We mill around for a moment, Heavy and Medic discussing their strategy for the day in hushed tones and Demoman and Pyro somehow conversing with each other. Sometimes I believe that Demoman doesn't _actually_ know what Pyro is saying and just nods his head and speaks whatever comes to mind. Pyro is probably actually asking him to walk away, as the air surrounding the Scot is more than likely volatile when combined with flame.

It seems to take forever, but it is only a few minutes before the Announcer's voice rings through the room. She advises us of the seconds remaining before the battle will ensue and emphasizes preparation before the electric buzz of the intercom goes silent. I glance at Scout and he sidles over to me, his bat slung over his shoulder.

"So, you gonna let me get Sniped again today, or what?"

I stare at him, unsure what he's talking about. He glances around the respawn before sighing and swinging his bat around—barely missing my head—to lean on it.

"That asshat was having a hell of a time with that piss gun of his last battle. You wanna tie him up for me? Gets real fucking annoying when I can't show my face around their side of the map without getting piss on me." He mumbles the last part and I feel a smile tugging at my lips.

"I will see what I can do." I tell him, nodding.

Demoman happens to hear me, and he guffaws loudly. "Oh, aye? Yer going tae help the little weasel? Ain'tcha usually jus' fighting for yeself?" He begins meandering over to us and I give him a look that can only be described as "dirty."

"I can be a team player." I tell Demoman, and our own Sniper snorts. I give him a glare as well. "It just depends upon my mood and whether I hate the person soliciting my help."

"You can't be telling me that you're not tired of the little bugger yet? Ain't he been on your case for months? Usually he gets tired and piddles off to bother someone else, don't he?" Sniper mentions, adjusting his glasses.

"... then he just kind of circuits around until he's gone through everyone and starts at the beginning again." Engineer tacks on, hefting his toolbox as the final countdown starts. I cannot see the man's eyes behind his tinted goggles, but my only guess is that they are grateful and yet calculating at the same time. The fact that Scout has not been making the rounds couldn't have gone unnoticed for too long.

"Hey, dude, right here." Scout announces, holding his arms out wide. We all ignore him, however, and the majority of the team races off as the buzzer goes off for the start of the battle. The rest walk, they are not at all eager to greet the day's first death.

"Yes, well, let them enjoy their vacations, then, hm?" I say, ruffling Scout's hair, as we are the last two left in the spawn room. "I'll see what I can do about your Sniper problem, _cher_."

"Good. Bet you can be just as annoying as me." He tells me, if he weren't grinning, I would think that he was being a bad sport about the comments. I nod toward the field and he races off, hefting his bat. I slowly walk forward, formulating a plan while the rest of my team moves across the map to clash with the enemy. I know a short cut that will take me in behind them. Then, I can search out the Sniper in the guise of their Spy. He slacks off almost as much as I do during battles.

_We're lazy, but useful when it counts_, I tell myself firmly, climbing a staircase to a ledge and running across to a hall. I pause to listen for footsteps, or beeping around the corner before turning and darting around. My footsteps echo along the concrete passage, but so will anyone else who decides to take it. I disguise myself and keep my Dead Ringer ready. I wish I had my Cloak and Dagger instead.

_C'est la vie._ This is what I get for allowing myself the distraction of Scout.

* * *

I find the Sniper easily enough. They have a Sentry set up farther back, but I give the Engineer a haughty glance before ignoring him and see him roll his eyes at me. Their real Spy is either cloaked somewhere smoking a cigarette, or actually doing his job and moving forward with the rest of their team. Whatever the case, I mount a flight of stairs to the second level and walk across the catwalk at a leisurely speed, right in front of the Engineer and his Sentry. The success of my seamless infiltration makes my heart race and I feel light headed as I take the entrance cut into the side of the wood-planked building. It leads me into a familiar hallway and I can see the man I'm looking for sitting on a crate at the end, his rifle is perched on the window-sill and he's focused on the corner, just in case Scout gets past his teammates.

"Care to break from your corner and entertain me, _amigo_?" I ask, affecting a Spanish accent. My disguise kit automatically adjusts my vocals to the same timbre, but I have to master the grammatical and pronunciation nuances of my adversaries and teammates on my own. It involves a lot of sitting around and listening to them speak. Pyros are always the easiest, unless a teammate is familiar with the thing. Then a simple, "hudda hudda mmph!" isn't good enough and I have to actually work for it. The enemy Spy I had to work diligently at. He does not speak to his teammates often, though he has lengthy conversations with their Medic about the most inane subjects imaginable.

The Sniper glances back at me, and I see him reaching for his jar of piss. I keep my cool, give him an incredulous look and snort. "You would like to pay my dry cleaning, then? I will not be dying this battle." I think that the man phrases his sentences just to make it harder on me. Sometimes it's nice to have a challenge, but the man's accent borders on ridiculous sometimes. Occasionally, I wonder if it is a fake, but his Spanish is flawless and he doesn't seem to put any effort into his sentence structure.

His hand hesitates, and he retracts it, seeming reluctant. The enemy Spy's team dislikes him just as much as they dislike me, though his bond with their Medic is a peculiar affair.

The Sniper mumbles something under his breath before going back to his sighting. I sidle up behind him and perch on the crate. "Silence is like a warm invitation." I remind him, nudging his side with my elbow.

"Bugger off 'n' talk to someone else." Sniper says, making a few adjustments to his rifle, though I only pay attention to his hands for a moment.

"Or…?" I ask, pressing my knife against his back. "Are you going to Jarate me, _mon espion_?" I can see his shoulders stiffen, though he chuckles softly.

Their Sniper's voice is a bit gravellier than his, but he allows himself to slip back into his accent. "I have been trying the rifle all week. It is hard when my teammates cannot see to help." He admits, shrugging with a chuckle. Disguises are not an exact science, and though he tried to act as if he was their Sniper, his fingers had gone a little too far and disrupted the mirage.

I wave my free hand, my knife still at his back. "You overthink things. Keep your movements simple." I suggest, watching his face pull into a thoughtful look with a nod. He has advanced far in the past year, but he is still young and fairly new to the position. He might have fooled me a bit longer if he hadn't been so fidgety.

"Yes, certainly." He replies before swiping at me with his knife, smoke enveloping him as his disguise drops. It swirls about us as we move gracefully about the small space, trading attacks and parries while commenting on the other's technique.

It is a dance that we have shared so often over the past several months, it is effortless. I hear the crack of a rifle and it reminds me that I am not here to play today. I parry one last swipe from my assailant before grabbing his arm and twisting my own around it to lock its mobility. He curses just as my knife arcs up into his stomach and continues its trajectory without a hitch. He gasps, surprised that I am playing for keeps today. I release his arm and snap his neck cleanly.

Scout streaks past on my way across the catwalk and I drop down in my enemy's disguise before he can get within the Sentry's range. We roll to the side and out of his sight, Scout kicking and cursing before he realizes that it is me. "You really have no patience." I tell him, pressed close in order to keep out of the Engineer's view.

"You were supposed to take care of their fucking Sniper!" He exclaims, wiping some of the piss covering him on my suit. I wrinkle my nose and slap his cheek lightly as a reprimand.

"And you were not supposed to get within his range until I _told you_ that he was neutralized." I inform him, practically in his lap as I shift to change my disguise so that I will appear as him to the Engineer. I will not be anywhere near as fast, but hopefully he will not realize that part until Scout is beating his face in with his bat. I pull out my Dead Ringer and grip it tightly.

"Do not come out until you hear me sapping his Sentry." I instruct him, taking a deep breath. I hate sacrificing myself. However, Scout enjoys winning, and the only way we will win is if we can capture the point.

"Yeah, yeah…" he grumbles, pushing at me. "Just go do your shit and don't screw up."

"I love you as well." I chuckle before darting out toward the Sentry and its Engineer. I don't stop running, though my Scout body drops away as I "die." I turn left and hop up onto the stairs that lead up to his alcove. My steps are silent and quick as I mount the stairs to the Engineer's little nest he has built. I disguise so that the Sentry will not recognize me when I uncloak and stand right behind the Engineer, my sapper ready to attach to the Sentry.

The next few moments are full of motion. As soon as I uncloak, the Engineer jumps and turns around. Just as I slap my Sapper onto his Sentry, I feel the sharp edge of his Southern Hospitality cut into me. My free hand is already whipping out my knife, however, and my arm blindly arcs around into his back, almost missing his spine. I feel my life draining away even as he slumps down. I disguise myself and begin to leech the healing vapors of the Dispenser as he disappears.

"Scout… hurry up." I mutter, the static hiss of the dying Sentry cutting through the throbbing in my ears. I shield myself with the Dispenser when it explodes and slap another Sentry on the sturdy little machine on my way past. Scout will need help with the newly spawned Engineer and Spy.

The Announcer's voice echoes across the field and I quicken my pace. After this, there will only be one more point and their tactics will no doubt change in order to keep it. I change my disguise to the Pyro and run forward toward Scout, though once I am close enough, my drawn gun sends a bullet through my counterpart's skull. Scout seems to have a shotgun spray from the Engineer, but he is otherwise untouched. It is, after all, hard to hit a Scout with a pistol. He races around me, jumping like a flea and hardly ever staying on the ground. I see blood a few yards away and assume that he killed the Engineer before I arrived. The point quickly ticks along until it is fully ours.

Just as Scout lets out a whoop of victory and races forward again, a rocket from behind blasts us to pieces and I awake in respawn to a grinning Scout. Despite the unpleasantness of respawn, I smile in return. I had forgotten the thrill of successful team work, but I can see all the good of it reflected in Scout's eyes.

"C'mon, one more to go." He tells me, hitting my shoulder- I suppose it is a sign of camaraderie- and then he races for the door.

I roll my eyes at his eagerness, but I feel something awakening in the pit of my stomach. It has been a long time since we have had a real victory. Usually the war wages back and forth, points gained and lost as we charge each other and retreat, trying to claim all six points for ourselves. We have five. _Five_.

Soon, the monotony will change, and I cannot wait for it. I exchange my Dead Ringer for my Cloak and Dagger before following my boy out onto the field, a smile on my lips.

* * *

**So, my roommate/beta hasn't played much tf2, and her comment after Scout said he was tired of getting piss all over him was monosyllabic and hilarious. "wat?" Just thought I'd share. :) I suddenly realized that tf2 is a very, very strange game to those who don't know much about it.**


	17. Chapter 17

The times that I feel unbearably old are few and far between, but as I lay on my bed, my back aching, I cannot help but feel as if I'm a decade older than I actually am. I can still hear the muffled laughter of the enemy Pyro, first setting me on fire and then compressing me off of the nearest ledge. The compression blew out the flame before it could do any real damage, but I landed hard on my back. Taking part in battle has its downsides. When I merely observed, or stuck to playing with sentries, I never had to deal with that soulless little cretin. Scout wanted a victory, though, and even though we captured one point, the enemy regrouped and forced us away from the last.

I didn't bother seeking out Medic, though I'm sure that I would feel much less achy if I had searched out the German instead of returning to my room right off. Scout should be in the process of showering right now, perhaps wondering where I am. I smile a little to myself,shift and hear my spine give an unsolicited pop from the slight movement. A combination of pain and relief shoots though me, but I do not dare move again.

The ups and downs of our relationship are like a roller coaster, short, periodic and mildly confusing all at once, it is a nice thought that we might finally be settling into something less hectic. I hear my door creak open and there is suddenly a one hundred and thirty pound young man bearing down on me. My back pops, shooting agony through my torso and I groan unhappily.

"Scout…" I mutter, voice muffled by my pillow. He shifts around with a laugh and wiggles up to lie next to me on my narrow bed.

"Yeah?" He asks, his bangs are sticking to his forehead and I realize that he hasn't yet showered. I take a deep breath, savoring the energetic scent of dust and sweat.

"Haven't I told you about taking a shower before you come and wallow all over my clean sheets?" I ask, but he just snorts and yanks off my mask. I feel a spike of annoyance, but I am too relaxed to really care. My back no longer hurts; apparently all I needed was for Scout to brutally attack me. "Thank you for fixing my back." I sigh in relaxation, though it turns to disgust as I turn my face away from him—he has started rubbing his sweaty hair against my exposed face. "Scout, stop, that's disgusting." I'm not sure if it sounds as half-hearted as I feel saying it, but he just laughs and moves on top of me again, his knees on either side of my hips.

"You coming to the camp fire tonight?" I feel his hands rest on my back and a soft noise leaves my throat when they begin moving against my sore muscles. "Is that French for 'yeah'?"

"I wasn't planning on going." I tell him, shifting my shoulders so that my muscles are not as tense beneath his hands. A pleased sigh escapes me when the heel of his palm finds a knot and begins working on it.

"Well you're going now. I told the guys I'd get you to. 'Cause, ya'know, I'm annoying and shit." He sounds a little disappointed as he says it and I shift so that I can see his face. His brows are tense, though he's forcing a small smile to his lips now that I am looking at him. "What?" He asks, shifting so that he's sitting next to me instead of straddling my back. I tentatively sit up, and am satisfied when my back doesn't even twinge.

"Scout, if you were not annoying, I would never have taken notice of you." I tell him, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. "If I found it to be an altogether unwelcome quality, I would not have allowed you to tackle me and then rub your sweaty hair all over my face."

"Yeah, well, you're old." A snorting laugh escapes me and I pull him forward to kiss his lips. His mouth curves against my own in a smile at first before he pushes me away. "Hurry up and change, Sniper said he was gonna bring the good stuff, I can't fucking wait!" His hand slips off my chest as he disembarksfrom the foot of my bed. I smile and roll my eyes before searching for my mask. I hadn't taken note of where he threw it. Something hits my shoulder and I see Scout standing next to my desk, his hand still raised from throwing my mask at me.

"_Merci_." I pull the mask on and settle it back on my face, wishing I could at least wash before going, but he seems to be determined that we will walk out to the burn pile _now._ I wonder why he wants to walk with me, but ignore it.

"So, uh… about that thing with the thing when my Ma was here…" he says, plopping in my desk chair as I move toward my closet for a fresh suit and shirt. I am probably not moving fast enough for him, but I do not particularly care.

"You mean your refusing to go out with me?" I ask, removing my layers carefully and sighing as I toss the remains of my suit into the clothes bin with the rest of my laundry.

"Yeah, that thing!" he nods and I smile before beginning to redress.

"Yes?" I ask curiously. He has been uncharacteristically silent for the past several seconds, and I step out of my closet to give him a quizzical brow.

"I… uh… I wanted to like… make it up to you 'n' stuff. So yeah… just so you know, this is a date." He says it with such a mixture of hesitation and decisiveness that I cannot respond at first.

He stares at me, his eyes telling me how devastated he will be if I refuse his peace offering. I suppose this will be the last leg of that blundering fiasco. I have apologized to him, and this is him apologizing for himself. I smile and his own face breaks into a grin.

"Well hurry the hell up, or Demo will get all the good shit." I roll my eyes at his harrying before I return to dressing myself. Slowly. "Hey, hey, no eye rolling, what are you, a fag or a woman? C'mon, don't take forever."

The sky seems to darken earlier with each day. Summer officially ended several weeks ago, and, coupled with our longitude, that gives us only a few hours of daylight after the end of our daily battles. The sun is just beginning to dip down as Scout and I finally exit the base. He looks as if he is taking considerable pains to keep pace with me, instead of rushing toward the rising smoke and flickering woodpile several hundred meters away from the base.

"I'm sorry, _petit_, am I taking too long?" I ask, watching his feet move quickly forward before he realizes that he is moving faster than me. He back tracks until we are even, takes a few slow, deliberate steps and then repeats the process.

"Dude, we're not in the base, don't call me any of your faggy nicknames, alright?" He is grumbling and runs a hand through his hair agitatedly. I smirk and wink at him when he looks back at me with a frown.

"This is going to be no fun at all, is it?"

"I dunno, I've never seen you shit-faced before, so it might be." Glee has replaced his darker expression from my teasing and I frown in distaste.

"I have no intention of getting 'shit-faced' tonight, Scout." _Drinking is merely something I do casually. When I overdo it, there is no telling what might come out of my mouth as I spiral into a reluctant reflective state, coupled with moping and stomach roiling amounts of self-empathy_, is what I should say to him, but I don't- for obvious reasons, of course.

"Well, why not? I know I am." He is boasting, and it makes me smile a little that he thinks something so childish is impressive. I'm sure that he will grow out of it.

* * *

As we approach, the little blaze grows larger and takes over more of the woodpile. Scout pushes me toward one of the large rocks placed around the circle scorched into the ground from hundreds of previous campfires. I wave him off and stare down at the rock for a moment, debating on whether a "date" with Scout is really worth sitting on what might as well be the dusty ground. He zips off toward a shambling Sniper, laden with cases of beer and I sigh, dusting the rock off a bit before finally allowing myself to sit down on it.

I hear Sniper yelling and cursing at Scout and find a beer suddenly shoved into my hands before I realize that Scout hadn't gone with the intention of helping Sniper at all. He just wanted to get two beers already. An early start for him, but I merely study the bottle for a moment before setting it at my feet. Scout is already prying the top off of his with his teeth, and I feel a shiver run through me as if nails were grating on a chalk board. I chipped one of my teeth like that when I was a teen; the action hasn't quite sat right with me since.

"Cheeky little piker… ya'couldn't have helped me, eh?" Sniper grumbles once the alcohol is safely on the ground. He rubs his back and gives Scout another glare before his eyes turn on me and a look of surprise overtakes his face. "Bloody hell, you got the Spook t'come." He says, as if I'm not sitting there, listening.

"Yup." Scout grins mischievously and holds his hand out to the Australian. "Pay up, Aushole." I smile a little at the improvised insult and watch Sniper slap a twenty into Scout's hand before turning to leave again.

"Scout, did you really just use me to win a bet?" I ask, raising my brows with a chuckle. He stands up to stuff the bill in his pocket before sitting next to me again.

"Yeah, you want go halfsies?" He asks with a smirk. I suddenly wish that we weren't in the open, that I could wrap my arms around him and let him know how devious he was to lure me out here on the premise of a date.

"Are you attempting to seduce me with this?" It seems like the only plausible explanation. Spending time with him among our peers, ingesting alcohol, and now his flippant attitude about something that anyone else would be offended by… does he know how much I am enjoying myself already and I haven't even opened my beer?

"Dude, shut the fuck u-" I cut him off with a peck on the lips. Sniper had left to retrieve more alcohol, no one else was present yet and Pyro was probably foraging for more burnable refuse. His foot kicks my leg and he blushes, glancing around like a startled deer**.** I wonder if he might run away from meif I say anything, so I just sit there, smirking.

His attention finally falls on me again, and he pushes me, trying to unseat me from the rock**.** "Stop being a dick and go sit somewhere else." He tells me, a mock sneer on his face. "I changed my mind, I don't want to go on a date with you." He tries pushing harder when I don't budge and I laugh, leaning back against his efforts.

"It is too late! You are stuck with me until the evening is over. I'm actually very lonely, you wouldn't want me to all alone and sad, now, would you?" I sense a flagging in his strength at my words and he slowly stops pushing me, his face turning up to look at me.

"Well…" his mouth twists as if he is considering what I have said. "Fine, but stop being a fag! And you can't cross your legs. Sit like a man."

I straighten and smooth my suit as he pulls away and crosses his arms, the neck of his bottle still clutched between two fingers. I very pointedly pick up my beer, pop the top off with my knife and then cross my legs one over the other. "I refuse to your term—"

"I'll be damned, Scoot." Engineer's drawl cuts through our quarrel and I turn my head to see that the Texan is cradling a guitar case and carrying his own case of team-brand beer. I wrinkle my nose at the sight of the stuff. It tastes like Jarate and only smells half as bad, though I do have a rather sensitive palate.

"I know, right? Fifty bucks, give it up!" Scout exclaims, jumping to his feet and leaping over the crackling heap of wood to preen next to Engineer. My mouth contorts into a baffled smile as Engineer procures the bills and hands them over to Scout. They go the way of the twenty and Scout walks over to sit next to me again, slapping my back.

"See? Aren't you glad you came?" He's grinning from ear to ear. I shrug nonchalantly, but I am secretly wondering when I became so easy to please. Perhaps around the same time that I thought of a blowjob as a large leap forward in our relationship.

"Yes, I feel like a prized race horse." I tell him before taking a sip of my beer. It is cool, something I didn't notice through my glove, and has a taste that isn't off-putting, though it is certainly strange when compared to the fine wines that I usually drink.

"Yeah, with like a lame hoof or something." He mumbles good-naturedly. I smile and fall silent as several more teammates arrive. Demoman and Pyro hand over twenties to Scout and Heavy relinquishes his prized Ushanka. The furry hat flops over Scout's eyes, but he sports it anyway. The heat of the day has slowly died to a comfortable temperature, a perfect moment before it begins its descent into the colder night temperatures. I suddenly wish that I had brought a blanket with me, but push the thought away. I have my jacket, it should tide me for a while... and then, when it gets cooler, I can use it as an excuse to leave.

Perfect.

"So, what'd he say to ya?" Sniper asks, leaning forward to snatch the last beer from the same carton that Scout was also reaching for. Scout gives him a little glare before batting the cardboard into the fire with a shower of sparks. I jump a bit, more than a little fidgety around the flames. Pyro laughs at me and I wonder if he has been watching me the entire time, being a creepy little psychopath and wishing that he could just push me into the flames.

"Spook?" Sniper tosses the bottle cap at me and hits me in the chest.

Oh, I hadn't answered him, had I? "Oh, not much…" I'm usually well versed in lying, but I feel a nervousness, being so close to flames and having the Pyro sitting across from me with those soulless eyes that might be watching me or Scout, or Engineer plucking at his instrument on the other side of Scout. Sniper's look is skeptical, as if he suspects that I am hiding something and I realize how distracted I am just as Scout plops the sweaty hat he had won from Heavy on my head.

"Promised he could wear the 'Shanker' for a bit. Spy totally leapt at the opportunity! He was like: 'sock-me-blue, please take me!' and I was like: 'yeah, yeah, but you have to carry me back to my room.' " Scout's improvisation tugs a smile from my lips and I slap the hat back onto his head with a disgusted wrinkle of my nose.

"You can walk to your room on your own, Scout. That hat smells of salami and gunpowder, it is an unacceptable trade." I am enjoying myself and do not realize it until the team is laughing and Scout is yelling about fairness and promises while I play along with his insane story. We spend a long time on the argument as I deny his phrasing over and over, trying to wiggle out of the supposed promise that I made with technicalities and fallacies that a child could see though.

It isn't until the conversation settles down again and Engineer is plucking somber strains of some country rhythm that I feel how far the temperature has dropped. I scoot closer to the fire, slipping down to sit in the dust. It is laughable that, two beers ago, I thought that just sitting on the rock was a horrible idea. I wrap my arms around my knees and enjoy the warmer spot that I now have. A bottle nudges my shoulder and I look up to see Scout offering me another beer, though I have two empty bottles sitting next to me. I consider taking it before shaking my head and leaning back against the rock with a sigh.

"No, I think I shall cut myself off now." I tell him, knowing that he will never forgive me if I let the nature of our relationship slip. There is a moment of silence, only the clink of bottles, murmur of hushed conversations and Engineer's strumming breaking it as Scout puts it back next to him. He is probably planning to drink it himself once he finishes his current bottle. Demoman and Soldier suddenly start laughing so hard that tears begin to well in the Scot's eye and everyone's attention turns to them, eager to share in whatever it is that they have thought of in their drunken conversation. Demoman begins retelling a lengthy story in his broken dialect and I relax back against my rock again.

I feel a warm body lean against me and look down to see Scout resting his head on my shoulder. The first thought that occurs to me is that he is not generally an affectionate drunk. When he has been drunk before, it is in a bar full of people ready to pay him all the attention he craves. Either until his antics got him kicked out or his audience lost interest, anyway. I consider the idea that he only wants _my_ attention at the moment, but it might just be my ego. I smile and give him a discrete squeeze before withdrawing my arm and trying to gently push him away.

"Scout, you should not be so familiar with me." I tell him softly when he refuses to budge. He turns his head up to look at me and smiles, his face moving toward my own, though I recoil before he can complete the motion and shove him to the side so that he falls between the boulder and my back.

"How many of those are Scout's, Builder?" I feel Scout's hand grab my ass and elbow him discretely in the side, though it doesn't cause him to stop. I feel his nose bury itself in my back and he mumbles something softly.

"Uh…" Engineer stops picking his guitar and leans over to get a better view of the dust, "well, the green bottles are his…" He shrugs and picks at his D-string thoughtfully. "I reckon about six?"

"Dude, it's _seven_." Scout announces from behind me. I look back at him and he sits up, his hair a mess and the Ushanka on the ground where it had fallen as he leaned over. I pick it up and set it on my knee. "I've had seven of those bitches and I'm still sober as shit!" He stands unsteadily and I grab the back of his shirt, lest he fall forward and into the fire. Pyro has gone to restock the fire every hour or so and I suddenly become aware that I have lost track of time. The moon is a sharp crescent in the sky and dips toward the west.

"Hm…" Scout flips off Soldier and Demoman as they start jabbering about how he's just as drunk as they are and how he couldn't hold his liquor even when drinking Sniper's 'weak Aussie swill.' Harsh words fly from Scout's mouth and if I do not contain him soon, he and Soldier will be brawling in the middle of the fire. Americans, all they ever accomplish is fighting with eachother. "Scout, sit." I tug at his shirt, but he doesn't listen to me, he even mumbles, "fuck off, man." My eyes narrow and I pull his shirt down hard, making him lose his balance and fall back against the rock he had started out sitting on.

"Shit, what the hell was that for?" He mumbles, pouting and rubbing his rear with a small glare.

"I was saving you from yourself." I stand and toss Heavy's Ushanka back to him before dusting the dirt from my suit. "Now then, come on." I grab his hand and pull him to his feet, cursing and whining about how the Ushanka was his now and I didn't have a right to give it back. When it is obvious that he is unwilling to cooperate, my shoulder dips as I pull his arm up and over my back. Before he knows it, he is slung across my shoulder, kicking and cursing.

"Thank you, Gentlemen, it was… well… interesting." I politely bow as much as my struggling load will allow before turning to walk back to the base with Scout cursing my very soul, as well as my face, liver and lower extremities. Overall, it isn't the worst date I have been on.

Scout's weight begins to take its toll as I open the door to the base and head for his room. He calms down a little once the door closes behind us and his hand comes down in a crude slap to my posterior. "So, whose room we sleepin' in?" The question is surprisingly well articulated for someone so sloshed, and I snort.

"Well, you will sleep in your room and I shall sleep in mine." I tell him, enjoying his wandering hands. His hand stops moving on my rear at the news and he shifts suddenly, causing me to careen into the wall and drop him over my back. He tumbles over with a curse, but must have regained his balance, because by the time I have turned around, he pushes me back against the wall and shoves his lips against my own rather harshly. His hands are gripping my jacket and the hard press of his lips becomes slack and almost gentle after a few seconds of my own lips responding with a silent repose.

"You said I could sleep with you tonight…" he reminds me, letting his face drop to nuzzle my neck through my mask.

"Yes, but that was before you suggested that I sodomize myself."

"I was just playin' it up for the team." He whines and wraps his arms around my neck. "C'mon, Spy… it's still early, we can do some gay stuff…" I roll my eyes and pull his arms off of me.

"Like what?" I ask, scoffing at his words. He just wants _me_ to please _him_- he is entirely selfish! Everything is about hi-

"I wanna try fucking. Like… it's like it was a bad idea before, but now it's like… if you wanna do it so much, and if he liked it so much, then why the fuck not, right?" His words are soft and partially muffled by soft kisses that he continually presses to my lips in order to calm me. It is slowly working.

"Scout, you are drunk, I am not so depra—" my voice breaks when his knee slides up against my crotch, "—ved…" Perhaps I am desperate enough, though. One of his hands hooks its fingers under the edge of my mask and tugs it up so that he can kiss my neck, trying to pull it farther up until I realize our location and take a deep breath. My hands pull his away from me and I carefully step away from his lightly rubbing knee. "Not in the hall…" I murmur when he looks as if he is about to force me back against the wall again. His face breaks into a grin and I smile back at him.

_Finally_.

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**My roommate's synopsis on this chapter was: **

**Scout is a dick, he dicks around, Spy use to be a dick, but he is still kinda a dick so Scout gets drunk and they decide to smash their dicks together. The end.**

**I personally like the chapter better.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Ilana, that **_**is**_** what I've been trying to avoid, you're correct. It's something that I get annoyed with when I'm looking for good stories. (When I'm just searching for sex scenes between characters I'm not that picky, though.) I always hate it when there's no build up, or it's poorly lead into it. I've been attempting to avoid making this a porn-fest since the end game of this story isn't just Scout and Spy screwing… aaand it has taken them three years to get around to Spy's original intentions. I think we're due for it. ;)**

**Thanks for everyone who put their two cents in regarding this chapter! It encouraged me to write it faster, as well as remind me that you guys, as readers, wouldn't have known everything that I knew or interpreted the end of the last chapter the way that I assumed y'all would :D **

**That being said, love you guys, enjoy your porn.**

* * *

The walk to my room is restless with anticipation. Scout's hand clutches mine tightly. From his expression, he is still nervous, but there is an excitement in his eyes that quells my worries. I know that I have a moral obligation as his lover to stop this, but I can tell that his eagerness isn't solely an influence of the alcohol. The fact that he can keep his hands off of me reaffirms his assertion that he is not as drunk as he was acting and sets my fears at rest. While I know that he wouldn't be doing this if there wasn't alcohol involved, I know that he really has been wanting this for some time. They call it "liquid courage" for a reason after all.

As soon as we reach my room, he pulls my mask off and I loosen my tie. We don't speak, though I am certain that smart assed remarks are building up in his throat. However, in order for him to speak, he would have to stop kissing me.

We break apart only twice, once for his shirt and then another so that we can make it safely to the bed. Once there, he takes over the removal of the remainder of my clothes, unbuttoning my shirt while I kick off my shoes and rake my fingers through his hair. The only noise in the room, aside from the soft sift of clothes against the sheets and the creak of the bed beneath us is our own desperate breaths, occasionally punctuated by throaty gasps as we run out of air and must stop exploring each other's mouths. Our lips stay pressed together, trading gasps of oxygen until Scout begins shoving his tongue back between my parted lips again. My layers of clothing fall away messily to the floor until there is only my undershirt remaining. My hands loosen his belt, slipping teasingly down into his pants to give his rear a squeeze before shoving them off of his slim hips and allowing him to kick them across the room.

His hands push themselves up my undershirt and the feeling of his hands, gentle yet calloused and rough against my skin, makes me shiver. We part one last time so that he can remove this last, thin barrier and he sits back, kneeling between my legs and taking soft, deep breaths. My hand falls away from his hair and rests on his hip, rubbing circles on his skin with my thumb. I admire his taut muscles and spare flesh before running my eyes up to his face. He looks as if he is worried and I tense, hoping that he isn't about to turn back now. Scout's eyes are locked between my legs, and I raise a brow at him when he finally looks up at me. One of his hands moves to stroke himself uncertainly.

"Do I just like… stick it in, or…?" He looks a little helpless as I smile at his question.

"I would prefer that you did not." I tell him, shifting so that I can retrieve the tub of Vaseline from my bedside table.

"Wait, wait, I thought that's what you—" he sounds panicked and I look back at him as my hand scoops the tub out of my drawer, "oh..." He seems to get the picture when I pop open the tub and tug off my gloves with my teeth. Two fingers dip into the semi-solid and it melts against the warmth of my fingers as I smear it around with my thumb. His face flushes scarlet as I lower my hand to demonstrate for him. I bite my lip against the stretch- it really has been too long.

After a moment of watching me, wide eyed and open mouthed, his hand grabs my wrist and pushes my hand away. He scrapes his fingers in the tub and I lean back, steeling myself for whatever might come. My past sexual experiences have lead me through almost everything- if he even knew half of them, he probably wouldn't have stopped to ask what to do, but I am instantly glad that he did when his fingers take the place of mine.

He is strangely gentle, something that I wasn't expecting. Slow and almost hesitant, his finger works inside me as if he's afraid of what he is doing. "It's alright." I tell him, tilting my head up and watching his serious face with a small smile. His brows are drawn and teeth chew on his bottom lip in concentration. He takes the encouragement well and carefully edges another finger in. I relax back again and spread my legs a little more with a sigh. "Really, you aren't going to hurt me, Scout."

"But what if I do?" He grumbles, experimentally expanding his fingers. I groan softly and he snaps his fingers back together.

"You _won't_." I hiss, my hips bucking back onto his fingers. It's a faster motion than anything he has been doing and I make a soft, pleased noise, trying to reassure him. "Just push them in and out, I'll tell you when to stop or if it hurts." I glance up and see his eyes on my face, his jaw slack and his eyes wide. "… Scout, please, I feel like you are just teasing me." I murmur, bucking my hips again. After that, his hand starts moving and he turns his blushing face back down to watch what he's doing. He quickens his pace, much to my pleasure, and expands his fingers to elicit soft groans from me. His free hand brushes lightly against my inner thigh and I glance over to see him licking his lips and shifting closer to get better leverage.

"Scout…" my voice comes out as a whisper and I clear my throat, my brain fogged with desire. "That's enough, Scout."

I don't hear his reply, but I know it's not an acknowledgement of what I said, so I "hm?" at him, sitting up a little so that I can read his lips if necessary.

"Sean…" he says, pulling his fingers out and leaning forward to press his lips to my neck. "S'my name… _Sean_." My heart thunders in my chest and the hollowness that his fingers left is suddenly aching for him.

"Sean?" I test the name on my tongue, enjoying the feel of it. He grins when I say it and kisses my lips before dipping his fingers back into the Vaseline and slicking himself with it. I take a deep breath and lay back down again. "Please, Sean… don't go easy on me, hm?"

"Yeah, Spy…" he pauses for a moment, perhaps steeling himself before taking the plunge. After a moment of only our breaths taking up the silence, he presses himself against my ass.

I am soon lost in him. His legs are strong and limber and he immediately seems to stop worrying about whether he will hurt me or not. Our breathing synchronizes, taking shallow, quick breaths with the rhythm of his thrusts. His palms are slick against my chest and he slips forward until his fists are gripping the sheets on either side of my neck. His thumbnail digs into my neck and I turn my head to brush my lips against his wrist. The corners of my mouth are curling in a serene smile.

Soft pleas of encouragement in whatever language comes to mind roll off of my tongue. It isn't long until he has worked himself all the way in, continuing with short, frantic thrusts. It takes him even less time to begin approaching his own climax. He is too inexperienced to do it properly, but I don't fault him for it—it is his first time, after all.

His chest is pressed against mine, neck near my lips and I smile against his skin. He is still moving, his thrusts becoming needy and erratic. His firm stomach rubs against my own aching cock, but it is merely a pleasant sensation, not enough to come over.

I have no hope of release while Scout is screwing me. Perhaps in the future he will have the skill, but right now, he is too eager and quick to please himself.

Once he is done, he will be relaxed enough for my own attentions. It doesn't take much longer, soft curses spill from his lips as his pace takes on a more desperate tempo and I am left biting my lip against groans of ecstasy. His new pace is divine.

His weight suddenly presses down on me as he finally comes. He pants against my neck, his hips still twitching in long, slow movements, trying to prolong his pleasure.

I smile when he calms and quickly switch our positions so that I can gently slide my ass off of his softening prick.

"Is it my turn?" I ask softly, rubbing the juncture between his thigh and hip. He rests his leg on my shoulder and I kiss his calf lovingly as he basks in the wake of his release. I reach down for the tub of Vaseline and set it on my bedside table, trailing a finger through it and tracing the cool substance along Scout's testicles. He shivers and shifts, though his hips tilt so that he is hiding his ass from me instead of baring it.

"N… Spy, I'm still like… I mean, _I wanna_, but at the same time…" he sounds tired and his voice is thick with satisfaction. I try to hide my disappointment and my dick throbs painfully at Scout's words. Certainly, I am a little larger than he is, but I am skilled enough that it isn't going to hurt anywhere near as much as the abuse he suffers every day on the battlefield. "Don't look like that…" he mutters, pulling his leg down and sitting up. He wraps his arms around my neck and leans forward, pushing down on me so that I am beneath him again. "How… how about I do something else…" he mutters, kissing my chest and stomach. His hands slip down from my neck and rest on my chest as he teases one of my lower abdominal scars with his lips.

"If you like," I tell him, hoping that he is not trying to pacify me with a hand job again. Scout slips his hand down my torso and grips my erection. I shift myself to get comfortable and sigh, spreading my legs again and reveling in the gentle ache that Scout has left. I close my eyes and push away my disappointment, just enjoying his touch and the heady scent of him. Images flash through my mind of everything we could do for each other—what I could do for him, if permitted, and what he could do for me in return. If only he wasn't so skittish. I desperately hope that he is right and that this isn't solely the influence of alcohol, that this will take us forward instead of setting us back. There are so many things that I want to teach this young man.

_Not pushing_ has never seemed so hard before.

His mouth suddenly finds my erection and I arch my back, surprised that he actually took the initiative. "Scout…" he pulls back and I twitch my hips unhappily. "Sean… Sean, please." The words leave my mouth before I can stop them and I bite my lip. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don't dare look down at him. After a few moments of listening to my heart thunder in my chest, I feel his lips press against me again and my throat lets out an involuntary noise.

His lips stop moving again, but they stay pressed against me, warm and moist. I listen to the silence between our breaths, praying that he won't change his mind. Sean's heart is fluttering against my leg and it seems like forever before his warm mouth envelopes me. I try not to buck my hips, but his tongue flicks against me enticingly and I slip up once before fisting my hands in the sheets. I feel his lips shift around me and I assume that he is smiling at my reaction before he begins to suck harder.

I don't want it to end. This is the closest I have ever felt to him, better than lying half-naked in my bed and talking about whatever comes to mind; better than kissing him on the field; better than holding him close while I lie awake at night. One of my hands rises from the sheets and tangles in his hair. He makes soft noises around my cock and his hands touch my legs and ass, scraping his fingers and palms against my skin. He seems to _really_ enjoy what he's doing.

My breaths come in gasps as I feel myself getting closer. My hand tightens in his hair and he quickens his movements, recognizing my need. French words leave my lips as English fails me. He takes more of me in his mouth, and even if I can't hear it though the blood rushing through my ears, I can feel his throat vibrating against me in a moan.

"Sean!" I gasp, allowing my hips to gently buck counter to his bobs as I feel white-hot pleasure rip through me.

It's too soon when he pulls back, but I sit up to look at him, hazy and smiling. I see his throat constrict and the pit of my stomach drops out. The color drains from my face as I stare at his upturned lips. He licks them before wiggling up to snuggle into my chest. I wrap my arms around him tightly, nuzzling his hair with my eyes closed.

"You didn't have to swallow…" I murmur, pushing back what I really want to tell him. _I didn't want you to_.

"Mhm…"

"You didn't have to tell me your name." It's in the same tone- half disapproving and half amused- that I tell him this. _I didn't want to know_.

"You mad at me for it?" He asks sleepily, burying his face into my neck and taking a deep breath. I smile and my hand strokes his warm, smooth back.

"… No."

"Then shut up. I told you 'n' I did it…" he mumbles the last part with a yawn.

I pull him across the bed with me and tug my rumpled covers back. He shifts so that it's easier for us to slip under the covers together and I tuck them around us. His arms wrap around my waist and I cup the back of his head with one hand and pillow my own head with the other. My fingers trail through his hair, caressing the damp locks thoughtfully.

"Hey, Spy…" he murmurs after a few minutes. I thought that he had already fallen asleep, but I am learning not to assume anything about my little lover anymore.

"Yes, _petit_?" I ask, my thumb stroking his cheek gently while my fingers remain in his hair.

"Could you say my name again?" He asks, kissing my neck lightly as if he is trying to convince me to.

"Hm… what was it again?" I reply, a small smirk on my lips. He bites my neck instead of kissing it anymore and I chuckle, my fingers tightening in his hair as I pull his head back to look him in the eyes. The only light in the room is that from the bright stars outside, but I can still see him blinking at me expectantly. "Sean…" I say softly, kissing his lips. The corners of his mouth turn up in a grin against my own and I chuckle as he rests his face against me again, his eyes finally closing for the night. "Good night, _mon amor… mon petit_ Sean."

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_**As a special treat for 100 reviews, here is the crack snippet that my roommate and I came up with. It's a "How It Should Have Ended" kind of thing according to her. (I… kind of participated in it… it was fun to write.) It takes place right after chapter 1 (If you can remember that far back. I sure as heck can't.)**_

**And then Spy went to scout's room after the battle and they touched their hot man parts together and scout was like, "take me, Spy, I fucking love you and am your scout thing forevers and shit."**

**And Spy was like: "I know you are, babydoll" and called him other romantic crap like buttercup and sesame seed and soy sauce.**

**And they sexed eachother and made their wanting known to eachother's hot man bits. **

**"Like whoa" Scout moaned lustfully, his face aflush with need. His boy-bosom was flushed like a two-pence barmaid on a Wednesday night… Spy noticed and chuckled before starting the real sexy-sextimes sexily. Because he's French and stuff.**

**"kfjskldjflsakefsiemfsalkfns!" Scout squealed and Spy was like: ooh lala, mon amie! And Scout was like: BABY BABY BABY OHHHHH, LIKE BABY BABY BABY OHHHHH WONT YOU BE MINE MINE.**

**And then Spy was suddenly turned off and said to scout, "I'm not looking for a serious relationship right now. I'm sorry, but it's over."**

**And then Scout cried womanly tears.**

**THE END.**

_**And now that that has completely ruined the mood, tune in next week, folks!**_


	19. Chapter 19

**This story isn't over yet, guys. There's about four or five chapters left! I'm glad that everyone's stuck with us this far :)**

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The dim light of dawn creeps through my window as I awake. Scout's head is resting on my chest, his lips curved in a small smile. I wonder if I shifted when I awoke because his eyes open. We are still tangled together in the warmth of the sheets; I feel peaceful and content—happy.

"Good morning," I say softly, shifting my arms to hold him closer. His eyes flick up to my face and he grins before wiggling up to give me a kiss.

"Hey. I didn't like… wake you up, or anything, did I?" So, he was awake before I moved.

"Hm… do I get another kiss if you did?" I ask, shifting beneath him so that we are lying together more comfortably.

"If you want one," is his reply before he presses his lips to mine again.

I smile and chuckle softly as his kiss becomes more eager. It takes a few minutes before I can bring myself to push him away. "Scout… you might want to shower before everyone else wakes up." I say, centimeters from his searching lips.

"Mmmn… but I don't wanna." He grumbles, gripping my wrists and straining forward. I allow him to touch my lips one last time before pulling back again and giving him a firm frown. "Okay, okay… but, seriously, naked Saturdays are going to become a thing, right?" He sits up and I allow him to push me back against the bed, satisfied that I have won. He puts me in much the same position that he had me in last night and a small smile evolves from my frown at the memory. I allow him to pin my wrists and kiss me again, glad that for once in this relationship, being selfish hasn't gotten me bruised or begging forgiveness.

"Perhaps, but this is Tuesday," I mumble against his lips. He reluctantly pulls back so that I can speak. "Go put some pants on and let's get ready for battle." I tell him as he works his way down my jaw and neck. His teeth scrape my skin and he sighs unhappily.

"Why can't we just stay in here and fuck all day?" He mutters and sits back with a pout.

"Because, that is neither practical nor…" I hesitate and shake my head. "It is just not practical. We can spend naked Saturday like that." He doesn't look satisfied at all with my compromise, but he gets off of me and goes over to retrieve his pants. I take a deep breath and sigh before rolling off of my bed and searching for my own clothes. I cringe when I see my suit thrown all over the room.

"What's that look for?" Scout asks, throwing a pair of rumpled trousers at my face. He pauses, sees that I have gathered and folded most of my suit over my arm, and makes a face. "Oh. Your _suit_." He snorts and rolls his eyes as he yanks his pants on as I fold mine and lay them on my bed.

"What?" I ask, raising a brow as I stow my suit with the rest of my dirty laundry.

"Nothin', just wondering why you're so weird," he says, snickering at me and walking over to pick up my neatly folded pants. He lets them crumple to the floor and I roll my eyes.

"Scout, you're being ridiculous." I tell him, trying not to get irritated. It's just a pair of pants worth more than his entire uniform from underwear to cleats combined. Just a pair of pants.

"No, you are. Seriously, I'm trying to help you here." If I hadn't seen the look on his face, I would think that his words were merely mocking me.

"I do not have a problem." I tell him firmly, pursing my lips and walking over to pick up my pants. I shake the wrinkles out before pulling them on. His mouth is twisted in a secretive smile and he shrugs.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, let's go." He grabs my hand and pulls me forward. I sigh and fight against him just long enough to get clean clothing to change into afterward before allowing him to haul me around by my arm.

We pass Medic on the way, and Scout surprises me by not letting go. The doctor smirks when he sees my predicament and raises his cup of coffee in a mock salute as we pass. "Shut the fuck up." Scout snaps at him. His fingers seem to tighten around my own despite his irritation and I smile as I further surrender to his forceful pulling.

* * *

Everyone has begun to fight with more enthusiasm now that a legitimate _victory_ is in sight. Beforehand, we considered a victory to entail keeping the other team from taking our own points and acquiring more kills than the enemy. Now that we only have one point left to capture, success is palpable.

The battles are hard and tiring, leaving even my energetic Scout ready to curl up with me at the end of the day. Our relationship has become sickeningly easy to maintain. We talk without fighting and affection is an effortless expectation when alone together. I have rarely stayed in a relationship long enough to reach the "honey-moon" phase, but can't remember being happier. Everything seems perfect and right- so much that it's nauseating. At first, I called him Sean only when searching for affection, but now I call him by name any time that we are alone together. He adores it, but I can only make baseless assumptions as to why. All that matters is that he is enjoying it and isn't hitting me anymore.

The exhausting battles leave us with little time or energy for sex, but we don't complain, just eat, shower and wrap ourselves up in each other. The week flies by, punctuated with Soldier's vehement need to capture the last point before the weekend. His anger and the intensity of his pre-battle "powwows" grows each day that we return to our home base as "failures to our country." No one dares remind him that only a third of the team is American.

These silly meetings were so rarely called before we started advancing that the team thought he was joking at first. Then, we collectively remembered that Soldier's sense of humor borders upon nonexistent. It is Friday, and it was only fifteen minutes ago that he trooped us into the respawn room to listen to him shout about tactics and plans and how much blood should stain the battlefield by the end of the day. It feels like it has been hours. Spittle flies from his mouth and my ears ring from the sheer volume of his already mind-numbing voice. Scout gets my attention from across the room- Soldier's focus is inches from Pyro's mask- and rolls his eyes, mock hanging himself. I smile and nod before acting as if I am paying attention to Soldier venting his lung capacity at yet another team member. He is about to move on to me when I tap my cloaking device and slip around to a discrete corner, careful not to touch anyone in the process of moving.

"SPY, YOU COWARD, GET BACK HERE AND TAKE YOUR VERBAL FLOGGING LIKE A MAN." He shouts, glaring around the room as if it will further encourage me to reveal myself. I glance at my watch and move fluidly away as he moves around the room searching for me. He is too angry and, frankly, insane to just move on to another teammate. Another few minutes of dancing around the spawn room, avoiding the angry swipe of his fists and shovel, and the Announcer declares that we have only a minute to go before the start of the battle.

I eventually settle next to Scout, resisting the urge to touch his hand, lest the contact reveal me to the still-fuming Soldier as he resolves himself to not wringing my neck. He situates himself before the team, hoping to give the illusion of leading us by being the first one out the door. As soon as the battle begins, I run out. My mind is already mentally combing the map for where the Sniper might hide himself today. Their Engineer has been getting craftier as of late and has been placing his Teleporters farther into the ramshackle buildings than he used to. His sentries are easy to find, but if I can prevent their team from teleporting to the front lines right after respawn, then it will take them considerably longer to reach the front lines and it will be easier for us to advance. We have a leg up on the other team- I am an experienced Spy and theirs is still very green. Yes, he knows the basics, but he doesn't know how to think past them yet.

I take fifteen minutes to find and destroy the Engineer's Teleporter exit before meandering off to look for their Sniper. For the next several hours, if the Australian isn't respawning or killing me, he is Spy checking with his Kukri and attempting to get their Pyro's attention. The Engineer, however, has already enlisted the Pyro's help in Spy-checking since my first destruction of his little toy. Later, I will team up with Demoman to destroy the Engineer's nest and his precious masked guard dog, but, for now, I am content to keep their Sniper occupied. We begin to hold ground farther up the map, and I stab the Sniper one last time as he turns his back on me to make his final effort in taking down my teammates. He won't be able to make it back to this point on the map now that my team have moved so far. I cloak and head off in search of our Demoman. The only thing keeping us from moving forward again is their Sentry placement. Soldier can't aim his rockets in such a way to include the Sentry in the central blast radius and even if the Engineer gets a little of the explosion, his little dispenser will heal him before Soldier will be able to recover from the recoil and shoot again.

It doesn't take me long to find the stumbling Scot and outline a method of attack.

Our team continues its advance, morale building with each meter conquered. The enemy Spy is too preoccupied with attempting to take down our Medic and Heavy before they can Uber again that he forgets that he could be of better use destroying our Engineer's Teleporter exit. Too frazzled and focused on what happens to teams that _lose_ to shove us back, the enemy begins to fall apart. Desperation can't save them now. No matter how hard they push, we push back even harder.

My teammates can see the point by now, and Scout and Soldier rush to it in turns, Scout jumping and dodging, filling the meter as much as he can before enemy bullets put him down. They don't even have to leave their base anymore, the point is right across, only sheltered marginally by a solidly built wooden structure. Medic leaves Heavy long enough to rush the point with Soldier, taking advantage of the hole in their defenses that the large man just mowed down with his Minigun. They are taken down just as the meter is about to become ours. It took some doing, but I found the enemy Sniper again. I watch the battle rage below over his head, engrossed in what they can achieve when an end to this silly war is in sight.

Well, _they_ think that it is an end. For a while, it will be.

The Sniper takes a careful glance around behind him, pulls out his Kukri and swats at the thin air that I had been occupying just moments before. Satisfied and sufficiently scared of losing if he doesn't do _something_ useful, he turns back around and raises his rifle. I drop my cloak and advance, slipping my knife between his vertebrae just as his finger tightens on the trigger. His gun jerks to the side in his death and my team's heads remain intact for the moment.

Pyro and Demoman rush the point now, allowing the other team to pass them if they wish. There is no way that they will be able to make it to their objective point in time to capture it, so why worry? The enemy doubles back to try attacking the two on the point, but Heavy just fires at their turned backs before going down himself from a well-placed rocket. Scout bounds around the corner, followed by Medic and Soldier. The enemy begins to shrink back, knowing that they have finally lost as the point becomes ours. I chuckle, twirling my knife as it glows red and crackles with the electricity of victory. I sit on the windowpane, watching my team massacre what is left of the enemy. Scout's eyes catch sight of me, and I can see from my perch that he is flushed with adrenaline and excited by his second _real_ victory.

Before this base, we were stationed at 2fort in an intelligence gathering mock up. Now that we have completed their little territory war, I wonder where they will send us next. Perhaps we will stay here and be given a new team to fight. There is really no telling what our employers are thinking. Scout is gone by the time that I pull myself out of my reverie, but I hear his quick footsteps in the hall leading to the room I'm in and I smile a little. I stand just as he comes into the room and he leaps at me, wrapping his arms around my neck. At first, he just lets his head rest on my shoulder and I can feel his heart pounding through his back as my own arms return the embrace. He eventually pulls back and kisses me, however briefly.

"Why didn't you ever help out before?" He asks, pulling at my mask. I grab his wrist and pull it away before he can unseat my mask, though.

"The battles were boring." I reply, allowing him to shove the edge of my mask up to my jaw so that he can kiss and bite at the skin of my neck. I shiver when his teeth ghost over my jugular and he lets out a hot, breathy laugh against my skin. "I quite enjoy working with you, though."

"Yeah, it's pretty cool," is his agreement as his lips begin to work across my skin again.

"Should we wait until we are back in the base for this, Scout?" I feel him press against me, pushing me back against the wall as he continues to attend to my neck.

"Why? We're not going to be allowed back out here once we're back in respawn…" he pulls back and smirks at me. "Unless you're afraid of getting caught…" There's a challenge in his eyes.

"I thought _you_ would be…" I tell him, watching his hands trail along my belt.

"Nah... If you're quiet, they won't come looking." He grins at me and I smirk back.

"The mask stays on." I tell him firmly, just in case we _do_ get caught.

His lips pucker in a pout and I kiss them in response. He makes an uncertain sound at first, then his fingers begin undoing my belt buckle and then various buttons, none in the correct order. He finishes unbuttoning my shirt before realizing that my vest still has two buttons to go. I laugh at him when he pulls back, looking confused. His look of confusion turns into a glare and he smirks before gripping either side of my vest.

"Sean!" I bark angrily when I hear buttons pop. He laughs and presses his lips to mine again, though I try to push him away. I find my anger fading, however, as his hands gently and slowly caress the skin beneath my undershirt. He presses me back against the wall again, the pressure is gentle, but my token resistance is gone. His hips rub against mine while he takes his sweet time palming my torso with his still-wrapped hands.

I don't realize that he's speaking against my lips until he says my title. "Hm?" I ask, opening my eyes to look at him as he pulls back from my lips.

"I said, 'are you going to be quiet now, Spy?' " He reiterates and I smile, wondering when I became the one who had to be coaxed into submission.

"Perhaps," it isn't a lie, but I cannot make any promises.

Scout draws back to pull his shirt off and retrieves his satchel from where he had thrown it next to the door. After a bit of rummaging, he pulls out a small tube and smiles nervously at me. "Practice makes perfect."

My mouth goes dry and I swallow before unbuttoning my pants, allowing them to hang precariously upon my hips. The action is more of an invitation than any words could be, and his nervous smile drops, replaced by his usual grin. Two strides and he is on me again, ready to learn.

* * *

Scout's arm is slung around my waist, half leaning on me. His adrenaline barely lasted him and I had to force him to get up and walk back to the base with me. He presses his face against my shoulder, allowing me to steer us through the maze of buildings. Just as we are about to turn the last corner, I stop and make Scout stand on his own two feet. He grumbles and whines, but I am unyielding.

As soon as we reach my room, he sprawls out on my bed and kicks his shoes off. I roll my eyes and begin undressing. I have barely plopped down on top of Scout when Soldier begins banging on my door. We both groan and I reluctantly shift off of him to open the door, just enough to poke my head out with an irritated glare.

"THERE IS A SQUAD MEETING AT SEVENTEEN HUNDRED HOURS, MAGGOT. GOOD JOB OUT THERE TODAY, YOU'VE MADE AMERICA PROUD." He salutes me before stomping off to the next room.

"Fucking hate that guy." Scout grumbles as I return to him. He scoots over this time so that we can share the bed and I lie with him, pillowing my head on his shoulder and closing my eyes.

"Indeed," I agree, shifting to get comfortable before settling down to nap with Scout.


	20. Chapter 20

**Sooooooo the next few chapters are just going to be a lot of fluff and sex. I'll get to the plot again eventually, promise.**

* * *

We get an hour and a half of sweet, uninterrupted sleep before my inner alarm goes off and I glance at the clock. I don't want to go to Soldier's pointless meeting. Sean's body is warm and hard against my torso, and I can listen to his fluttering pulse through his shoulder. I spend ten minutes warring with myself over whether it would be worth it to just not go—pros and cons, cause and effect.

"Sean…" I murmur, kissing his jaw and shifting farther up the bed. "Sean, wake up, it's time for Soldier's meeting."

"Fuck Soldier, 'm tired." He grumbles, rolling away and curling up in a ball with his back to me. A smile crosses my lips as I force myself to sit up.

"You will miss watching me change my suit." It's a reminder I have only used once before, but it catches Sean's interest when he feels the bed shift as I stand.

He rolls over and pulls my pillow down to curl around it, watching me sleepily as I retrieve a clean suit and hang it from my closet door before beginning to strip. It's slow, and, of course, teasing. Though we only have twenty minutes before Soldier expects us, no one ever shows up on time to his meetings, so I am not worried.

Sean's eyes follow my languid movements, locked onto my hands and the patches of visible skin appearing as my clothes fall away. "You know you ain't getting a tip if you don't fucking hurry your ass up." He tells me, swallowing and looking up at my still-masked face.

I shrug and wink at him before doing as he asks. I redress fairly quickly and he sits up to stretch. "Would you like to go first?" I ask as I tie my tie in a few practiced motions.

"Yeah, I guess." He jumps up from my bed and bends down, stretching his tired muscles and rolling his shoulders. "Shit, I've never felt this sore before." He grumbles as he straightens.

"It's probably because—"

"I worked off the last of my adrenaline on you?" He cuts me off with a grin. "Yeah, well, I didn't say it wasn't worth it."

A smile tugs at my lips and I step forward to kiss him. "I love you." I tell him after allowing my lips to linger on his. For once, I am certain that I am not lying to either of us. Somewhere, my doubts have disappeared. Borne away by intimacy and familiarity, I am certain that I want to be with this young man for as long as I can, if it's only just to be in his presence and not to touch or kiss or screw.

It's altogether disgusting and wonderful at the same time.

Sean just grins and smacks my ass. "I love you more."

My lips twist into a tight smile. There are degrees to love? "Go, I'll follow." I tell him, fixing his bed head before ushering him out.

"Yeah, well, I'm still going to follow you around! You can't get rid of me, asshat!" He yells at the door as I shut it with a smile.

I sincerely hope so.

* * *

The meeting is brief, merely a way for Soldier to pat our heads for once instead of screaming at us about our shortcomings (generally limited to being from a country other than America). He tells us about how much of an honor it was to serve with us, and that we will be given a week's leave while our employers decide where they will put us next. Sean perks up a little when he hears Engineer talking about a "trip to town," his foot kicks me beneath the table, and I give him an irritated glare that he just grins back at, rubbing the spot with the toe of his sneaker. My hand strays to his thigh beneath the table as I turn my attention back to Soldier and the box he's slamming onto the table.

"Other than giving everyone the warm fuzzies in the wake of our enemy's CRUSHING DEFEAT… mail arrived today, so FALL IN."

Sean is the first one over the table and in line, as usual. I push back a smile and stand to follow the rest of the team around the table at a sedate, albeit curious pace. Sean receives two parcels and a stack of ten letters. He grins and zips out of the room to take stock of his treasures.

Everyone has at least one letter. I have no doubt that it is merely our employer telling us what a great job we have done. I receive five envelopes, two from colleagues, two from Headquarters and one from Stephanie. Its postmark is a week old, and I wonder why they don't just teleport us our mail when they receive it.

I leave with my mail, though Sniper and Engineer meander in Soldier's "War Room" to chat and wonder what base we will be at next. I don't particularly care. A thought tugs at the back of my mind: _as long as Sean is there_.

When I return to my room, I witness chocolate chip cookie crumbs being swept unceremoniously off of my bed and Sean reading through his stack of mail, pants discarded on the floor. I count nine envelopes splayed across the bed. In the first box rests an assortment of cookies—homemade, no doubt. The second is on the floor, clearly opened but with unsatisfactory contents.

I walk over to pick up the second box after I drape my jacket and waistcoat on the back of my desk chair.

"Hey, don't touch my stuff." Sean doesn't sound particularly angry, more resigned and a touch disappointed.

I open the box and see a pair of slacks stuffed into the box on top of a crisp white shirt. "What's wrong?" I ask, wondering why his—I glance at the return address, but it just says "Ma" with the actual address blotted out—mother would send him presentable clothes.

"The pants don't fit me anymore…" he mumbles around a cookie before shuffling to the second page of a lengthy letter written in a rough, mannish script. "You think this word is 'refuse' or 'reuse'?" He asks, pointing to a scribble on the page with the last quarter of his cookie.

"Hm… It might be 'relish.' " I tell him, shrugging and perching next to him with the box. I fold the slacks neatly back in and set it down on the floor. "Did you ask your mother to send them to you?" I ask softly with a smile.

"Yeah, her cookies are fucking amazing, want one?" He avoids my question effortlessly, and I smile in response, plucking a cookie from the bag he offers me.

"I meant the other box, Sean." He pauses midchew and takes a deep breath.

"Yeah, I'll just get another pair of pants in town or something." He's blushing all the way to his ears and I lean forward to press my chest against his back.

"If you'd like, I can help you. I assume you've never gone shopping by yourself before?" It's a stab in the dark, but he stiffens against me and I know I have hit my mark. "In return for your attempt to plan ahead…" My voice is soft against his hair and he shakes his head, reaching back to grab my letters from me.

"You're so interested in my mail, let's see what you got—what kind of name is 'You Know Who. Onhonhonhon!'?" He snickers and continues riffling through my mail. He comes to Stephanie's letter and looks a little surprised. He inhales deeply before exclaiming, "dude, this one smells _good_." He sniffs the envelope closer and fingers the weighty paper. "This from that dame you went out with that time?"

"… yes?" I'm not sure why he's so curious about my mail, but I allow him to look anyway as I eat my cookie. They really are "fucking amazing."

"Wonder if she sent any pictures…" He pries at the envelope and I catch his hand.

"That is none of your business. Give me my mail back." I don't mean to snap, but the look he gives me makes me wish I hadn't.

"Dude, I was just kidding, sheesh…" he mumbles, relinquishing my property and sulking down into his own pile of envelopes, hiding behind his—I assume—brother's letter.

It takes me a moment to realize why I snapped at him: I don't know what the second letter from Headquarters is. The only reason that I can think of for a reprimand is Sean. God knows that I haven't been very useful to my team (until the last few weeks, anyway), therefore it can't really be a commendation. I clutch my mail and retreat to my desk after grabbing another cookie.

"Go shower and then come back, Scout. I will not sleep with you while you still smell like the battlefield." My voice is a little more crisp than I intend, the worry burrowing into me like a parasite. I don't want him in the room if I overreact.

"Damn, Spy, I was just kidding…" he sounds hurt, and I turn in my chair to catch his arm on his way out. My arm pulls him toward me and I kiss him slowly, trying to soothe what I have inflicted with my words and tone.

"I'm sorry, I'm just tired after a long day. Shower and then we can sleep." I tell him, pressing one last kiss to his forehead. He grins and I smile softly back.

"Alright, I guess I'll let you off this time, but the next time you act like an asshat, I'm gonna punch you." He steals another peck from me before darting out the door and down the hall. I brush the cookie crumbs from my lips with my thumb and set the last half of my second cookie on my desk before facing the letters.

There is a letter-opener in the top drawer of my desk. I retrieve it, unwilling to use my knife, lest I cut myself and have to explain the cause to Medic and Sean.

Spies hands _do_ _not_ shake. _Ever_.

… and mine _are not _shaking now.

The first is just what I expect it to be: a letter detailing our statistics and our standings among the rest of the teams as well as congratulating us on our victory. I set it aside to read more thoroughly later.

The second is heavier and twice as thick as the two page congratulatory letter. I slice open the end and tap the neatly folded stack of papers out. I can see boxes through the back page and feel my apprehension receding. When I unfold the papers and read the first line, I deflate.

_We have received your request for transfer and have enclosed the paperwork necessary…_

I have a week to reply from the date of receiving. I stare at the papers for a long time, remembering when I had sent the request in- months ago. Back when I thought that ean was just being an asshole to me for the sake of being an asshole; before I realized that he was just confused and flirting like a ten year old.

I hear my door open and slam closed. Sneakers hit my wall as they are kicked off and a lightweight body creaks the springs of my bed. I glance at my watch; he hasn't been gone long enough to have showered thoroughly.

"I do hope that you took a shower before carelessly wallowing in my sheets once again." I tell him as I shuffle the transfer papers out of view and pretend to look at something else—a blank page of stationary. It was the closest thing at hand.

I was _afraid_ of being told that we couldn't continue our… _this._ A Spy shouldn't be afraid of losing anyone. It should be expected, normal, taken in stride. Perhaps I should consider the transfer…

"You're just saying that 'cause you want me out of my clothes." He snickers and I roll my eyes. A sigh escapes my lips and I scoot back from my desk.

"No, I just don't want your sweat and blood all over my bed." I stretch as I stand and a matter-of-fact smirk follows my reply. His conclusion is ludicrous and lewd. If I wanted him to take a shower, he would be naked in the showers and not in my room. It doesn't make sense, though I suppose I should expect that from Sean.

"I ain't got any blood on me, dunno what you're talking about." He defends himself and I stare at his lean body stretched across my bed for a moment. There is a moment of silence before he snickers and says, "admit it, you like what you see." He is smirking, and I roll my eyes at him. I'm smiling, though.

I loosen my tie, and hang it on the back of my chair with my jacket and vest. "Oh, yes, I can't keep my eyes off of you, _m'amor_." I move to sit on my bed next to Sean, watching his chest rise and fall with his breaths. His hair is damp, attesting to the fact that he at least stood under the spray for a minute.

"Told you so," he boasts.

"Of course you did." I reach over and pull his shirt down over his exposed stomach. "There, that fixes that." He pouts and sits up, draping himself on my shoulders and resting his head atop my own.

"You're real mean, y'know that?" It's a rhetorical question and I chuckle, tilting my head back to kiss his chin. "Like real mean." I kiss him again, this time on his cheek. "Total asshole." My lips press against his and he kisses me back. I can feel his grin and his hands move to the buttons of my shirt as he slips around to straddle my lap.

"I'm sorry, but should you really be kissing me if I'm so horrible?" The kiss is only broken for a moment, but he seems intensely irritated that I had the nerve to stop.

"Uh, yeah. It'll make you less of an asshole. You'll be all romantic and shit- I've seen it work before." He tells me, smirking and pushing my shirt off of my shoulders.

"For wanting romance, it seems like you are going quite fast." I mention, allowing him to push me back onto the bed.

"Shut up." He mumbles, pushing and pulling at my mask, getting it up enough that it covers my mouth before he begins to kiss and bite at my neck. My reply is muffled, and he bites at my jaw roughly. "I said 'shut up.' " I chuckle and he hits my chest, pulling back to frown at me.

My hand comes up to pull my mask fully off and I smirk up at him before pulling his head back down to resume the kiss. I just want to forget about the transfer paper, forget that this is the only place in the world I want to be, right here with this young man trying to assert his dominance with half-hearted violent actions and words. His fierce affection is delicious, different from anything I've enjoyed in a lover before. Like a match, though, it burns out easily and he soon succumbs to me.

I roll him onto his back and pull his shirt up, feeling as if I'm at a disadvantage otherwise. The box of cookies is kicked to the floor and I hear the letters skitter across the wooden planks as well. Sean doesn't seem to notice or care, too wrapped up in my lips and bare skin.

"I thought that we were tired…" I murmur, pulling back for a breath.

"Well, we ain't really doin' much, are we?" His eyes are half-lidded and he nuzzles my shoulder before kissing it. "Fine, but you have to talk me to sleep with that faggoty language." He wraps himself around me, legs locked around my waist and his arms around my chest as if that's all it will take for me to yield to his wishes. I collapse on top of him playfully before rolling onto my side and holding him close.

"Get the covers, hm?" I tell him, nuzzling his hair and pressing soft kisses to his scalp. He doesn't smell like our shampoo, confirming that his shower was a quick rub down with water- completely lazy and more than acceptable.

He whines a little and pulls away long enough to yank the blankets over us as I get the bedside lamp. Once we are settled, he snuggles against me again and I sigh, considering all the avenues of French literature that I could take.

"_Le Maistre Chat…_" I begin, trying to remember how the story goes. I suppose that that is what I get for taking the easy way out and opting for a childish fairytale.

"What's that mean?" He asks, his voice muffled against my bare skin.

I ignore his question and press on, once I remember the words.

Sean falls asleep before I can get to my favorite part, though: when the clever cat defeats a shifter by convincing him to change into a harmless mouse... and then swallows him up.


	21. Chapter 21

**Sorry this took a while... If it ain't one thing, it's another, seriously.**

**I have no idea how many chapters I can stretch their time in the city out to... but I'll try not to have too much fun with it.**

**Here, have some fluff before they start humping each other again.**

* * *

I awake after a few hours of sleep and slip away from Sean. He clings to me at first- like he always does—but eventually his arms slide away and I can replace my warmth with my pillow. I watch him for a moment, wrapped around my pillow with his legs flung across the middle of my bed. A smile tugs at my lips, but I turn away and collect his box and letters before I cross to my desk. There is a small lamp on it and I turn it on, angling the shade so that the light will not wake Sean. The box and letters go on the corner of my desk so that he can attend to them I his own time. I pull the transfer papers out from where I had stuffed them- under a book - and sit in my cold chair to skim through them. Nothing seems to have changed from my last transfer, all the fine print is in order.

I fill out the information necessary and, in the box where I can request a team, I simply put my own team's squad number. I've filled out several of these sheaves of paper before, and it would take more resources and time to actually transfer me than to just leave me where I am. It's not uncommon for someone to change their mind about transferring, especially with all the bureaucratic nonsense that is involved. I have no doubts that it will be approved and Sean will be stuck with me. I'm sure that neither of us will mind too terribly.

I fold the papers along their lines neatly before shuffling them into a fresh, weighty envelope. As the recipient I merely put "Headquarters" with a light flourish, and in the left corner I put my employee identification number. I seal the envelope and set it on the corner of my desk before beginning to read the rest of my mail. I didn't get a chance to last night and later, when Sean wakes up, I won't have the chance either.

One of the letters doesn't demand a response. It is merely a farewell from an esteemed colleague, telling me that he will no longer be with the company and, as such, will no longer be in contact with me. I smile and fold the letter back into its envelope. It goes in a drawer with several other letters of the same nature, all from fellow Spies that finished their three, five or ten year tour and don't want to hear from anyone involved in the war ever again. I can expect a contract renewal notice sometime next month and wonder which avenue Sean took. Probably a three or five year contract, he doesn't strike me as someone who would toss his lot in for the long haul, though a single ten year turn means twice as much pay as two five year tours. Getting out of a contract is like hell in an envelope, and the fees are ludicrous.

I reply to Stephanie next and place it on top of the envelope with my transfer papers inside. My other colleague's letter—_Monsieur_ Onhonhonhon!— is next. I read it over several times before I pick up my pen and flip it over to write a brief, sarcastic message on the back before sealing it and placing it with the others. A glance at my watch tells me that I have only been up for a little over an hour. I stretch with a yawn before turning off my light.

Gently tugging my pillow from my Sean's arms, I replace it with my body. He protests and wakes up half way, but my arms draw him close and he fits against me perfectly. Every crevice between us fills with warm skin.

"Where'd you go?" His voice is sleepy and I kiss him silent again.

"… _je ne vais nulle part__,_ _ma puce_… I'm going nowhere." I tell him before closing my eyes once again.

* * *

Surprisingly, it is Sean that wakes me up. By now, I'm used to getting pounced on in the mornings, lips searching and hands teasing until I can't ignore them anymore. He's a pleasant alarm clock, though I generally awake before he does.

"I'm awake." I tell him, rolling onto my back and staring up at the ceiling groggily.

"I know I am." His grin moves into my view and I feel my lips smiling in return. "Feels freaking great to get a few more minutes of sleep than normal." He bounces off of my bed and stretches while I sit up and appreciate the view.

"It will be much better in the city." I reply, stretching and rubbing the back of my neck with a sigh. The beds are bare-minimum, subpar, lumpy mattresses. They feel just fine after a hard day of fighting and respawning, but they are not a pleasure to sleep on at all.

"Yeah, definitely." Sean seems to be pulling his shirt back on and he plops down on my floor to pull his shoes on after. "When do you think we're gonna leave for the city? I want some real fucking food."

"It will probably be discussed at breakfast. However, it will probably end something along the lines of, 'when I'm darn ready to pull out the van, that's when.' " I mimic Engineer's soft baritone as well as his ridiculously languid accent.

"Can't anyone else drive that thing? Ain't that hard, right?"

"No, it isn't that hard." I agree, watching him run over to my desk and grab my own stack of letters—giving me a small panic attack—before he realizes that they have my writing on them, and puts them back.

"Oops." He grabs his own envelopes and starts opening them once again while I cross to my closet and begin dressing.

"Bet I can read all these faster than you can get ready, Princess." He chuckles at his own joke and I roll my eyes.

Despite his jab at me, I still take my time, if only to watch him scan his letters and wonder if he would snoop into my own stack if I gave him the opportunity. How would he react to the transfer notice? I can only imagine how the coming time in town would be without him. I doubt that I could- in good conscience- date another while I was there if he was mad at me- as I know he would be.

I doubt that he would even give me time to explain myself before running from my room cursing my very existence. While it would be a magnificent display of drama, I think he respects my privacy too much to cross such a line.

By the time that I have finished tying my tie, he is ripping open his last letter. Despite his obvious lack of sophistication and culture, he reads surprisingly fast.

"I win, _mon _prince." I tell him, resting my hands on his shoulders and pressing my lips to his hair.

"Yeah, yeah, you got lucky one of my brothers had a baby and, shit, he won't fucking _shut up_ about _everything._" He lets go of the letter to reach up and ruffle my hair. "Don't forget your mask, and I want milk this morning."

"_Monsieur_ Picky can get his own milk, however I will have a plate ready for you." I slip away when he tries to grab at me and convince me to get his drink for him. He always complains that it isn't cold when he arrives, so he can get it himself.

"Mon-sewer Asshole can hurry up and leave—I'm starving."

"Your words wound me…" I smirk as I retrieve and slip on my mask. As I leave, his hand smacks my rear on my way past my desk and I try not to grin when I see Heavy making his way down the hall for breakfast as well.

He greets me in Russian, slapping my shoulder and almost causing me to careen into the wall.

I regain my footing and wave off his laughter. I reply in kind and allow him to walk with me to the kitchen where rubbery eggs and burnt toast await us.

I fix two plates and sit down, one in front of me and one across the table. Our team doesn't comment, they have been taking my "friendship" with Sean in stride. It only makes sense with all the time he has spent circling me for the past several months.

Time seems to run together the longer one stays at a base, and I can no longer remember how long we have been involved. I do know that it has been far longer than any other physical relationship I have ever been able to maintain. A Sniper once caught my eye, and we spent a single week trying to figure out if sex, coffee and cigarettes were enough to fuel something relatively stable.

It ended in disaster. In fact, it is the source of several scars.

Sean traipses in just as my teakettle begins to whistle, and I stand, brushing past him on my way to the stove.

"Hey, watch it, asshat." I can't tell from his tone whether he is joking or not, and my heart seems to stop as I turn to survey his expression. He grins and I feel the queasy paranoia recede. He didn't look through my mail.

"Non." I answer simply and gently push him while keeping the smile from my face. He sneers at me and makes a rude gesture, but I can tell that he is still grinning away.

Sean makes any room he enters louder. As soon as he sits down at the table, an argument breaks out about who should drive and which hotel they should stay in.

Amazingly, it lasts until I have finished my eggs and the unsigned bits of toast. I sit back and tune out the conversation while sipping my tea, feeling a rare wave of contentment when not tangled in my sheets with Sean.

"Hey! hey Spy, what do you think?"

I look up and raise a brow at Sean's pleading face. I haven't been following the conversation at all, so I just shrug and attempt to recall what I have been unable to ignore. Engineer wants to spend a few days working on his toys, and Sniper is too lazy to drive for so long. No one else has a valid license—law among mercenaries, how quaint. "Leaving after lunch would get us in town early enough to settle into our rooms before going for a meal of real food. I'm sure that you can work in your room. If not, then why not just relax and enjoy the vacation from motor oil and metal?"

Engineer looks as if he is considering my words, and I wonder when the last time was that he took at least 72 hours away from his precious mechanical abominations. He shrugs and sighs, "well, I suppose I could bring my blueprints with me…"

"Then it is settled." I stand and drain the last of my tea before taking my dishes to the sink. Upon my exit, I can hear Sean boasting:

"Yeah, that's why I'm friends with Spy, 'cause he knows how to get shit settled!" The lower voice of one of our teammates poses a question and he snorts. "Fuck no, I ain't got no 'hero worship' going on! If anything, it's Spy who thinks I'm a bad ass…" the rest of their conversation is lost as I near my room with a soft chuckle.

Once inside, I pull out my suitcase and begin to carefully pack several suits away into it. I have it down to a minimally wrinkling art. I remember halfway through that I should make sure that I have plenty of lubricant with me, since Sean tends to use too much and search my drawers around my room to see how much I have. I toss an almost-empty tube at the trashcan, but miss. I continue to pack away the rest in my bathroom kit before walking over to pick it up and put it in the trashcan. There is an envelope, ripped apart and tossed into the rubbish. I frown and pick out the pieces, curious.

The writing on one of the pieces is the feminine script of an educated young woman. I make sure that there are no more pieces left in the trash before walking over to my bed and spreading the bits of the letter out on my bed. I am halfway done with my puzzle by the time Sean bursts into my room. I grab the two pieces that I have deemed most important so far and slip them into my jacket pocket as I turn to intercept him.

"Shouldn't you be packing?" I ask, swatting his hand away from touching the clothes in my suitcase.

"Hey, c'mon," he pouts and I swoop down to kiss him.

"If you don't start packing now, you will forget something." I tell him, pushing him away when he tries to put his arms around my neck.

"No I won't…"

"Well, then, you'll have finished packing and you can spend between then and lunch in here with me instead of packing at the last minute." He's still pouting and I peck his lips again.

"Aw, fine…" His voice is a low, sulking grumble and I feel bad for turning him out so abruptly, but I will make it up to him later- after I am done snooping.

My lips touch his forehead and he hugs me before zipping back out and down the hall. I turn back to the pieces of paper scattered across the bed and then withdraw the two I had stuck into my pocket. They contained a phone number.

… _if you ever get homesick, give me a call!_

I tuck the two pieces into my cigarette case before pulling out and lighting one. After a long drag, I begin to gather the pieces again to throw them away. The rest of the letter was clearly the product of a girl barely out of her teens attempting to speak to a boy that she has obviously known for years and is trying to stay in contact with while he is away.

The envelope hadn't been opened, from what I could see. The flap was still glued down and the edges weren't torn. I wonder how long ago he stopped reading her letters, but it isn't something that I would ask him directly. Perhaps it isn't even any of my business.

I finish packing and collect my letters to drop in the outgoing mailbox. When I return, my suitcase has been thrown carelessly in the floor and Sean is sprawled on my bed with his face buried in my pillow. I quietly close the door and slip over to rest my hands on his hips. He jumps and flails to turn over, glaring up at me.

"Seriously, man. Don't sneak up on me like that!" He looks more amused than angry, and I smile before leaning down to steal a kiss.

I shift him to the side and sit down, running my hand across his stomach. "You are done packing?" I can feel his core rise and fall with his breathing.

He nods with a grin and I cock my head to the side.

"Socks?" I ask, and his brows furrow.

"Fuck!" I allow him to get up and run out of the room. He returns minutes later and jumps over me and onto my bed. "Socks!" He announces with a grin.

"Underwear?"

The cycle repeats itself with toiletries as well. The third time that he returns, he runs in and covers my mouth with his hands, hissing a drawn out, "shh!" at me.

We stare at each other for a minute, and I smirk against his hand. His serious face slowly stretches into a grin and he slides his hand from my mouth to rest his hand on my cheek, over my mask. "I'm gonna get to spend some time with you this trip, right?" He moves forward so that he's sitting in my lap, touching my face and tracing the lines where my balaclava ends, but not quite edging over to touch my skin.

"None at all. I have important business to attend to, and—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. For a Spy, you're a crappy liar." He smirks triumphantly when I put on an indignant look.

"I excel at lying, actually." When he snorts as if he doesn't believe me, I lean forward and kiss his ear. "I will be happy when I am finally away from you."

He makes an uncertain noise and suddenly his fist jabs into my shoulder harshly.

"_Mon dieu_, what was that for?"

"I told you next time you were an asshat, I was gonna punch you."

"I was merely displaying my aptitude for the art of deception!"

He doesn't look impressed, but he's grinning again, so I don't think I did any real harm. "Then why don't I believe you?" His reasoning brings a smile to my lips and I lean forward to rest my head on his shoulder, my arms wrapping around his waist to hold him closer.

"Because you have come to know me so well... deceiving you in the future will be hard, what a shame." I feel his laugh through my mask and his warm breath brushes against my jaw. His chin digs into my neck until he turns his head back around and rests it on my shoulder.

"Yeah, I just like making your life harder." It is a joke, but things _were_ so much simpler when my bed was cold. Back when I was able to convince myself that I was happy without a head of brown hair tickling my face and the light pressure of a body fitting snugly against my own. Without the warm, sun-kissed skin and the soft laugh that escapes when I ghost my hands _just right_ along his sides.

"Somehow, _petit_, I think I shall survive."


	22. Allonsy!

**Honestly, I never expected to _need _a what-happened-before-Spy-and-Scout's-first-kiss, because that was all it really was, just me wanting to write about Scout and Spy making out and then Spy being a douche. However, now I really want to show what lead up to it, and it's something that even Spy doesn't know about (and never will, most likely), so I just _have_ to write about it from Scout's POV. King-of-Ships asked about a Scout POV chapter, (I think a few more people have as well) and I had to tell the truth and say that there won't be a chapter.**

**There will be several, (remember that "closely related" project I was talking about at the start of Chapter 12? This is it) because I really want to write this same storyline from Sean's POV. That is all I shall say about it for now. Carry on with your lives. (It's going to be so much fun to write, EEEEEEEEEEEE!)**

**OH. OHOHOH. If anyone is in Texas… and going to Akon in Dallas… I'm totally going to be there, so… idk, try screaming Scrunchy really loudly everywhere and maybe I'll hear you. I might be going as a RED Heavy, but I'm not entirely sure yet. Depends on if I can figure out what I'm doing with this cosplay stuff.**

**Oh, yeah, one more thing… this update is kind of long, so enjoy!**

* * *

Sean, while my lover, does not make the ride into the city any more pleasant. Since, out of our team, we are the two with the narrowest build, Medic relinquished his spot next to Heavy and Sean crammed himself between the large man and me. At any other time, place, situation, sitting this close to him would be pleasant. However, a van full of mercenaries and the smell of salami less than a meter away somehow quells my enthusiasm.

I count down the streets to my hotel—there is no way that I would stay in the ratty little place that headquarters has no doubt staked out for _their_ stay. A few extra hundred a night is more than worth the privacy, comfort and service that a man like myself appreciates.

"Engineer, stop here. Please." I grit out the last word when he looks as if he is thinking about finding parking instead of just braking at the side of the street. There is scant room behind the back seat for luggage, but I managed to get my own and Sean's fitted behind so that we can make our escape rather quickly.

The freedom that I find as soon as I escape the dreaded van is exhilarating. I duck my head back into the van to see Sean just sitting next to Heavy, looking a little dejected and scooting over a little to take up the space I used to occupy.

"Scout, do you want to learn to seduce a woman or not?" I ask, keeping my face as calm and matter-of-fact as possible.

"You really give classes on that sort of thing?" Demo asks curiously, scratching his cheek as if he is seriously contemplating the notion.

"Only to those who might have a chance at learning… He is still young and moldable." I sneer, very abrupt and candid, as Sean makes his way up the side of the van and slips past me. "Besides, he has the basics, we just need to… well, I'm sure that if I could get him to stop using those horrid pickup-lines, it could get him _somewhere_."

"Hey, those things are pure gold!" The engine of the van and the distance muffles Sean's voice, but it brings a half-smile to my lips. I'm sure that it shows a tinge of contempt to everyone who doesn't know my affection for the young man, and that is perfectly fine.

"And that, gentlemen, is why I am going to help Scout lose his virginity… for the price of his mother's phone number, of course." I wink craftily and slam the door shut before retrieving my suitcase. The What, Why, Who and How of the lie are taken care of, now I just—

Sean's fist jabs into my arm so suddenly that I almost punch him back out of reflex. I drop my fist and look at him as if I can't quite believe what he just did.

"What? Had to make it look convincing, right?" He picks up his bag, a sly smirk on his lips that I would just love to kiss.

"I love it when you are devious." I tell him as we begin walking.

"Don't be a fag in public."

The hotel is not far, but the streets and sidewalks are crowded with pedestrians, bikes and vehicles. There is a stop that we need to make on the way, so the crowding really just gives me an excuse to hold onto Sean's elbow so that he doesn't run off.

"Ah, here we are." I pull him gently after me as I slip through the crowd and into the small tailor's shop three blocks from the hotel. The sign outside proclaims in bold words, _Jones Custom Suits_.

"I thought we were going to the hotel…" he looks nervous as a man in a slick waistcoat and matching trousers approaches us.

"Welcome, gentlemen… how may I be of service?" His accent is crisp, yet his vowels roll off his tongue in a brogue similar to yet vastly different from British. I can tell that it makes Sean even more uncomfortable.

I set my suitcase down and motion for Sean to follow suit. He drops his duffle bag next to my case and stands there while I step forward and shake the man's hand.

"My friend here needs a suit. Black, nothing flashy…" I see his eyes flick over to size up Sean. "I believe he is a 28 in the waist, but I might be wrong." When I turn, Sean is shifting nervously and looks like he is drawing in a breath to call us both faggots for talking about his measurements.

I raise a brow at him, a warning, and his mouth closes so quickly that his teeth clack together. His jaw clenches and I feel something like pride when he holds his head up and allows the tailor to beckon him forward and manipulate him onto a stool. _Monsieur_ Jones begins to take his measurements without anything unfortunate being said. Perhaps there is hope for him yet.

He fidgets, at first, and I think that it might be something that he is unaware of. It prevents the tailor from doing his job properly, however, and I step forward after the third time that the man tells Sean to be still and he snaps irately back.

"Sean, if you do not stop fidgeting, I will make you room with Pyro." I tell him, my voice dry with disapproval at his attitude toward the man who is only trying to do his job.

The look on Sean's face instantly garners my forgiveness and I walk over to rest my hand on his calf. "Just relax; it will not take more time than necessary if you are kind enough to work with _Monsieur _Jones instead of against him."

His eyes tell me what he would like to say, but his mouth is set in a pouting frown that merely voices the word, "okay." He stills himself and allows _Monsieur_ Jones to manipulate him how he must in order to get his measurements for the suit.

Since it seems Sean and the man will be getting on without my interference for now, I move over to look through the racks of ties that line one of the walls. After a few minutes, I hear their voices, though they are low and I cannot make out their words. I can tell that Sean isn't cursing, though, so that is a good sign.

I pick out three ties, one light, one dark and one a team oriented striped pattern. I have plenty of ties for myself, but I'm sure that he doesn't own a single one. Or, if he does, they are in Boston, and quite far from the present, where they will be needed.

I set my selection on the counter just as Sean hops down from the stool and runs over to start touching things. His nervousness seems to have dissipated. At least he wasn't acting out in bursts to make up for it.

The small mercies associated with taking one's boyfriend out in public.

"Will you be able to have it ready by tonight?" I ask, taking out my chequebook and clicking my pen with a flourish.

"By tonight…? I suppose that's possible." He smiles as if to add something that the inflection of his words hadn't.

I write a number down, sign my alias and slip the cheque across the counter to him.

"Yes, I'll have it ready by six-thirty." He tells me, slipping the payment into the register.

"_Tres bien_… Sean, come, we'll return later." He jogs over to me with a ghastly tie in his hand, baseballs covering it in red, off-white and soft browns.

"Can I wear this one?" He asks, grinning at me. He knows my answer, I'm sure of it, he's just doing it to aggravate me.

"Yes, and why don't you wear your cleats and cap as well." I tell him, taking the tie between forefinger and thumb and gingerly setting it down on the counter. "We won't be taking this one…"

"Think of it as a gift for your patronage," he tells me, a smile on his lips. He slips it and the other three ties into a paper bag before handing it to me.

I sigh dramatically, and square my shoulders before passing the bag to Sean.

"Thanks, man. We'll see ya." He grabs his duffle bag and zips out before I can even say my own farewells.

"Your son?" He asks, something like sympathy in his voice.

I shake my head, chuckling. "Do not let him hear you say that… no, I am a friend merely attempting to culture him."

"Ah… well, _allons-y_, hm?" He chuckles with me and I cross over to my own suitcase, picking it up and following Sean out the door.

_Allons-y_ indeed.

* * *

"Ah, Spy, welcome back." The receptionist smiles at me, a pretty, middle-aged woman with a refined taste in clothing and perfume.

"_Bonjour_," I greet her, smiling while Sean leans on the counter. Gentlemen do not slouch in such a manner.

"Will you be needing two rooms, or a room with two singles?" She asks, already looking at her chart to see what is available.

"My usual room will be just fine- it has a couch, does it not?" I smirk at Scout when he kicks me and sticks out his tongue.

"Ah, are you travelling with your son today?" She smiles so warmly that I somehow keep my expression free from distaste.

Sean doesn't bother containing his scorn, however, and straightens in preparation to give her a piece of his mind. "I ain't his fucking ru—"

My hand discretely slips around to cover his mouth. "I'm tutoring him in the ways of the gentleman… we haven't started the communication courses yet, but I'm sure that when we do, he would love to come back and have a decent conversation with such a lovely young woman."

She was, at first, understandably offended by Scout, but my words seem to have smoothed things over. To some extent, anyway. My reputation also aids me, and she merely gives me a terse smile and stands to retrieve the room keys. He mumbles something against my hand as I receive the two sets of keys, not yet relinquishing a set to him. It isn't until we are half-way to the elevators that I let go of his mouth and swat the back of his head.

"Just try to behave, it has taken me several years to get such a nice rate here…" I scold him with a frown.

"Yeah, yeah, why'd you say she was a young woman? She's probably older 'n you." He rubs his head with one hand, though I know that I didn't hit him hard enough for it to actually hurt.

"Because it was polite, and you were two words from getting us kicked out." I sigh, seriously thinking about carrying our ruse to reality. He really could use some polishing around the edges… and then some.

"… you ain't seriously thinking about telling me how to act, are you?" I can hear in his voice that it will make me seem too much like his mother, but if I am going to be taking him out with me during this week, it will be a polite young man that I take and not this infuriating child that thinks more of himself than those around him.

"Perhaps…" I board the elevator and press the button for our floor. "I will bait you with kisses and kind words, however, so I don't think that it will be all bad for you."

He grins mischievously and follows me in. "Yeah, well, even if I fuck up, you can't stay mad at me for too long." His arrogance makes me chuckle and the hand that reaches over to grab my rear only adds to my amusement.

"Yes, well… I have, thus far, been able to keep you from…" it takes me a moment to find a tasteful English word for it, "botching anything too important."

"Dude, just say 'fucking up,' it's easier, and doesn't make you sound like a faggot." He snorts and pats my posterior one last time before we arrive at our floor and the door allows us out. The carpets are a plush imitation of a Persian rug, but their beautifully crafted designs are still appealing. A muted nutmeg brown coats the walls and gold plated numbers shine in the dim lights of the hallway.

I never stay on the top floor, unless it is for a special occasion, or the view is exceptional. Perhaps in New York, or Dallas, but in this little city, I would never pay so much for so little. A room on a middle floor with minimal windows and working shutters is perfectly suitable.

As soon as I open the door, Scout bounds in, throws his bag on the couch and doesn't even bother kicking his shoes off before flopping on the bed. After a few minutes of sinking into the plush comforter, he kicks off his shoes and rolls onto his side.

"Yeah, you can have the couch, man. I'm sleeping here."

I smile and walk over to the small closet to hang up my suits, knowing that he is expecting me to join him. I'm giving him a moment to regret his words. Once I finish hanging my suits, I move to the couch and place his bag on one side before sitting down with a sigh. It is nice to sit without being crammed between Scout and the wall of the van.

It isn't long, however, before I find myself pressed between Scout and the couch.

"Is it really necissar—" he cuts me off with his lips and I take a deep breath before sighing dramatically and pushing at his shoulders. His hands come up to grab my wrists and I relent when it doesn't seem that he is going to release me very soon. Once his hands leave my wrists and tug at my tie, I finally push him away and stand so that he won't have the advantage anymore. "Scout, I do not want to make out right now."

"Fooled me." He smirks and licks his lips before plopping on the bed again.

I feel my face heat and take a deep breath before heaving a sigh. "Honestly… I would like to go over a little decorum that I expect from you tonight."

"Day-core? Isn't that like… fancy," he gestures around us, "furniture and pillows and shit?"

"No, decorum is manners, dignity, politeness…" I gesture my hand toward myself. "Less… rowdiness, cursing and… well…"

"… less me." He finishes and crosses his arms.

"You can still be you without being crude for an hour." I tell him, walking over to brush my hand through his hair. "I just want to be able to take you out in public without people wondering if I have a man or an orangutan as my date."

He reluctantly leans his cheek into my hand and I see a smile blooming on his lips. I lean down to press my lips to it and he bites my lip before I pull back.

"Yeah, yeah, so this decorum… stuff… stand up straight and don't curse, right?" Sean squares his shoulders and rolls them back so that his back is straight and he is standing at a perfect attention.

"Relax, _mon amor_." I walk behind him and rest my hands on his shoulders, rubbing gently. "We are not going to be at a military gala, just a restaurant."

"Hm…" he relaxes a bit and shifts his shoulders, enjoying the attention.

I do not spend too much time on getting him to relax, however. There is much to be done before six o'clock.

* * *

"Wait, so what's the difference between the Windsor and the Half Windsor…?" Scout is sitting with his baseball tie draped around his neck, attempting to complete a successful Windsor. I will admit that it is a little more complicated than a Four in Hand knot, but a Windsor knot is far more superior in both style and presentation.

"On a Half Windsor, you go around instead of up…" I crawl over behind him and unfurl the tie from its failed knot before beginning to tie it correctly myself while he looks down and watches my hands move the ends. "The rest, however, is the same. Up… through… around… up… through…"

"Why the fuck would you want to do something so complicated every day?" He asks, wrinkling his nose and twisting in my arms to look up at me.

"Because I can do it quickly from years of practice… and it makes me look devilishly handsome, _oui_?" I smile and kiss his cheek as he rolls his eyes at my explanation.

"Yeah, whatever you say.. _fag_." He settles back against my chest and I shift so that my legs are on either side of him before craning my neck to watch him do it on his own. At the very least, these lessons will keep him from throttling me with my own tie the next time that he attempts to undress me. His hands are still slow and hesitant, but I make encouraging noises for him when he moves to make the right motion.

At long last, he finally slips the end of the tie through the knot at the top and tightens it securely. It doesn't look half bad, perhaps a little bulkier than it should from having too much of the wider part of the tie, but overall, better than his last ten attempts.

"So I get a kiss now, right?" He asks, twisting around so that he's kneeling between my legs on the bed.

"I cannot say no to that face." I tell him, smirking and reaching out a hand to cup his cheek as his face rushes forward to press his lips against my own.

After the first two interruptions, I had banned him from initiating intimacy at all if we were to get anything done. He pouted, complained, and whined, but it was worth it to have made such progress. I allow him to push his tongue past my lips and enjoy his eagerness, laying back and allowing our bodies to tangle wantonly.

He has my shirt half-unbuttoned before I realize the scope of his intent. By the time I push him away, he has the rest of my buttons undone. I finally break our lips away, but he just takes it as an invitation to kiss my jaw and neck.

"Sean…" my voice breaks and I clear my though, feeling him chuckle and nip at my skin. I really don't need this before a dinner date. "Sean, we need to go get your suit and make sure—" he cuts me off by biting my neck again and I close my eyes, clenching my jaw at the things attempting to leave my mouth. Finally, I push him away and roll over on top of him while he pouts and strains up against my hands. "No, not until after dinner, and not until after you have behaved yourself." I warn him, though even if he does act like an incorrigible ass while in the restaurant, I know that I will still yield to him tonight.

"Hm… behaving is boring, though…" he mumbles, raising his leg to rub his calf along my thigh and wiggling his brows.

"Yes, well, I want you to bore me tonight… and then, when we get back, I will bore you until neither of us can stay awake." I whisper my promise into his ear and feel him react beneath me, wiggling and whining about fairness and calling me names. I smirk and peck his lips before slipping off and beginning to button my shirt back up.

I can feel him hesitating behind me, the heat of his chest millimeters from my back and his soft breaths against my neck. I wonder if I will have to save myself from his molesting hands again, but he merely leans against me and kisses my cheek before climbing off of the end of the bed and grabbing a pair of black dress shoes from his bag.

I stand and get a polishing kit from my bag (really, they are quite pitiful), but he is already pulling them on. "Oh, _non non non_." I chuckle and shake my head. "You are not going to wear those in that state." I hand him the rag, two brushes and a tub of polish.

"You're serious?" He asks, pouting up at me, and perhaps trying to see if he can get out of it.

"Very serious," is my reply as I find my mask and pull it on. As I settle it on my face and tuck the edge beneath my shirt, Sean and I have a staring contest. I make sure to keep my face straight and grim, just to show him how serious I am. It isn't until I'm pulling my jacket on that he finally sticks his tongue out at me and begins polishing his shoes. The wrong way, of course.

"Sean, that is… _do not_ get that all over the bed! Go sit at the desk, and—" I pick up his shoes from the bed as he moves to the desk with the open tub of polish and the brushes. After a cursory glance, I am relieved to see that I won't have to pay for a new bed spread. I sigh and remove my jacket, tie and shirt, light a cigarette and walk over to perch on the edge of the desk.

"Yeah, so I ain't doing it right, what's the right way?" Sean asks, and I can tell that he's unhappy. I'm not sure if he's disappointed that this is how we are spending our time together, or if he is fed up with my telling him how to act and dress. I suppose that I wouldn't blame him for being a little cross with me if I were in his position, but this is really for his own good. Besides, we will have five more days to take advantage of being alone together, I think using the first afternoon to learn how to be a gentleman was very resourceful.

Nonetheless, I reach out and pull his face up to press a gentle kiss against his frowning lips. "Do not be so irritated with me… _s'il te plaît,_ _mon am-_" his lips press against my own again and he hits my shoulder lightly before pulling away.

"Don't start speakin' that French crap to me, or I'll start not wantin' to go out again." He tells me with a roguish smirk. It takes me a moment to think of what I would like to say to him, but he doesn't give me a chance. "Now show me how to do this right, yeah?" The opportunity has passed, so I let it go. My reply wasn't terribly eloquent anyway.

I smile and pick up a shoe and the coarser brush before beginning my instructions.

* * *

Scout and I leave at six-fifteen, his shoes shined, the baseball tie draped around his neck, and his most presentable pair of jeans on. We had an argument about his choice in tie, of course, but he promised that I wouldn't see it again the entire week if I let him wear it tonight, so I change my choice of venue to a restaurant that I rarely frequent. I will not be taking him to one of my favorites his first night, but perhaps tomorrow night I shall. Without that blasted tie.

His hair is surprisingly pliable when a comb is available. He needs a haircut, something that I hadn't really noticed before. I refrain from telling him now, but perhaps, after we return tonight, I will give him one. He will look much more presentable with his hair cut to an appropriate length. As it is now, it touches the collar of his shirt, and I have to force myself not to give it too much thought, or I shall drive myself crazy over it.

When we reach the little shop, it is almost six-thirty. We can just browse more if it isn't ready yet, and the bell chimes as I open the door for Scout, allowing him to enter before following.

"Welcome back." Jones smiles, looking up from his place behind the counter, reading a men's fashion magazine. He marks his place and comes around to shake my hand and then Sean's. "I finished work on it only a little while ago- luckily I had a pair of trousers that only needed to be taken up in the waist and leg a bit."

"Thank you for your help, I know that we put you on a spot of sorts with our abrupt order, but you know how it is." I chuckle, wry and friendly all at once.

"It's no problem at all, nothing I couldn't handle." His smile contains a tinge of pride, though his composure is still impeccable.

I feel Sean's elbow in my side and turn my head to see what he wants. He just gives me a look that I'm supposed to know the meaning of, but I can't decipher it before Jones motions for him to follow him to the back where he can dress. Sean surprises me when he grabs my sleeve and pulls me along with him.

"He can tell me whether it fits or not." He tells Jones, pulling me into the dressing room with him and closing the curtain with a snap.

"_Petit_, I—" he gives me a little glare that I _know_ is telling me to shut up, and I shrug before settling back to watch him strip his jeans off and pull on the trousers. They are well tailored and a smile rises unbidden to my lips at the way they fit him. Much better than those ghastly baseball pants, they show the slimness of his thighs and hips, make his legs look long and lean, and give him a rear that his usual wardrobe seems intent on hiding.

"So, are they—hey, stop staring at my ass, you creep." Sean smirks and turns his back to the corner farthest from me. I flick my eyes up to his face and realize that I had been looking for a little while longer than I intended.

"_Je suis vraiment désolé_," I return his smirk and wink at him. "Now, stand up straight. No, don't look down… just _stand there_, _merde_, your mother must have had her hands full with seven more of you…" I hold his shoulders up so that he won't move and look down at the length of his trousers in relation to his shoes. The edge overlaps the tongue, but I soon realize that it is because Sean has the waistband at his hips instead of his waist. I reach under his shirt, which he hasn't tucked in yet, and pull them up. "There." His hands push at mine, and he whines about them being comfortable where they were, but I swat his hands away. "No, a _waistband_ fits at the _waist_, not the _hips_." I try to keep my tone neutral and not chiding, but am wholly unsuccessful.

"It fits wherever is comfortable…" he mutters under his breath sullenly. With the adjustment, the edge of the pants is only a few centimeters off, at most.

"Very good… you are lucky that _Monsieur _Jones is skilled." I tell him, drawing my hands back. "Tuck your shirt in, hm?"

"Why, otherwise I'd get to wear my jeans?" He snorts, and I can tell that he doesn't think that the suit is working. I can't wait for him to see himself.

"No, otherwise you would be wearing a poorly made suit and look ridiculous." I watch him tie his tie, managing it quite quickly, before holding out his jacket to him. His shoulders look firmer and are leant a broadness that gives the illusion that he is standing with near precise posture instead of slumping, as is his habit. "Stand up _straight_, _mon dieu_, what am I going to have to do to get you to… there." He finally straightens and I finally allow myself a very ungentlemanly smile. Almost a leer, if I had to guess.

"_Tres parfait_…" I murmur, leaning down to button the top two buttons.

"Why you leaving the third?" He asks, frowning curiously and looking up from my hands on his jacket.

"It is a style… hm… nuance." I tell him, raising his arms and making sure that the fit of the arms matches the nigh peerless work of the trousers and torso. I lean close and kiss his ear. "I'm not sure if this suit will last until the restaurant." I whisper softly, smirking when he pushes me away.

"No way, I had to listen to your ass whine about ties and shoes and manners and shit for _hours_. I'm going to a fucking fancy restaurant and eating fucking fancy food. Fucking okay?"

"Are you getting out all your crude language now, or are you going to be like this all night?" I ask with a small smirk, making a few adjustments before stepping back and collecting his jeans to fold over my arm. We could get a bag for these from Jones and then drop them off at the hotel.

"Dunno, still trying to decide." His grin makes me chuckle and I sweep open the curtain to seek out Jones.

He is in the front of the shop, reading his magazine. I notice the barest traces of scarlet along his neck and cheeks and clear my throat to get his attention, though I'm sure that he wasn't paying so much attention to an ad for women's perfume as he appeared to be.

"Yes, sir?" He smiles a nervous smile and I smile back.

"Might I get a bag for these? Or a furnace, honestly, the boy has nothing presentable… that is not the case now, however. Thank you for your craftsmanship. You did well for what you had to work with." I tell him as he hurries to procure a large paper bag for me to fold the jeans into.

"He actually did quite well for his first fitting. Well, after I got him to stop fidgeting." He chuckles and I join him.

Sean comes back up and I pull him gently over to the mirror by the hand, standing behind him and smiling at him over his shoulder. My hands make small adjustments to his posture and finally come to rest on his lips, pulling the corners of his mouth up in a smile.

"What a handsome young man, where did my Sean go?" I purr softly and watch his cheeks redden in the mirror.

"Dude, shut up and get off me, we're… in public 'n' stuff." He pushes my hands away and elbows me in the stomach lightly for good measure. A chuckle escapes me, and I step back before turning to see Jones trying to look interested in his magazine once again.

"Thank you once again, _Monsieur _Jones. I do hope that we may call on you again in the future?" I ask, walking back to the counter and taking our bag.

"Yes, of course… if it needs any adjustments or repairs, just bring it in. The first mending is free, however it varies depending on the size and complexity afterward." He informs me, shaking my hand and then Sean's.

"Thank you, we will keep that in mind, but… well, hopefully we will not have to take advantage of your services very soon." I smile in farewell and head for the door.

"Thank you for your patronage, sir."

"Dude, what's up with being all faggy McFaggers back there?" Sean asks as soon as we are walking down the street again. One hand is shoved in his pocket, and the other swings limply at his side, his fingers playing with his cuff self-consciously.

"Well, he could scarcely keep from hearing you in the dressing room, so I decided to… assuage any talk that might spring from it." I tell him with a shrug.

"By confirming it?" He glares at me and I smile, wondering why he is suddenly so defensive of his sexuality when he was acting so open previously.

"Were you acting out because you thought that I was flirting with that man?" I ask, pulling him to a stop and turning him to face me. There are few people on the streets, and we are speaking softly, but he still glares around, daring anyone to overhear our conversation.

"… I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"I see…"

We share a moment of silent communication, eyes searching and mouths working to attempt to voice what needs to be said, but waiting for the other to speak first.

"Can we just… go? The hotel's like right there, let's just drop my pants off and go… wherever, I don't care. It doesn't matter because you weren't and whatever, Christ just leave me alone!" He tries to pull away, and I allow him to.

"Yes, let's go." I agree, beginning to walk again with a small smile.

When we reach our hotel, the doorman accepts the bag. I give him our room number as well and instructions on where they are to be set. Sean allows me to lead, and, though he is silent for the duration of our walk, I know that once we reach the restaurant, he will behave himself to make up for his silliness earlier.

* * *

**PFT, yeah, of course he is, Spy...**


	23. Chapter 23

**This isn't an update, what are you talking about?**

* * *

Whatever I expected from Sean, this isn't it.

His napkin made it into his lap, but otherwise he just looks confused. He picks up his oyster fork and looks up at me as if he is begging for help. This is as good a time as any for me to explain everything to him, so I pick up my own and display it to him.

"This is an oyster fork."

"Why do I have five fu—" he keeps himself from cursing, and I feel the corner of my mouth twitch in amusement, "… forks?"

"It is because they have five different uses." I reply calmly, holding up my finger to stop him from speaking when our waitress comes by and greets us in French, rife with American accent. "_Bonsoir, Mademoiselle, __Parlez-vous anglais_?"

She glances from myself to Sean, who is still looking confused from his fork dilemma, and, now that he can't understand us, a little suspicious. "I'm sorry, of course." She smiles and giggles a little. "Welcome, gentlemen, will you be starting with a wine tonight?"

"Ew…" Sean says and I kick him beneath the table.

"A strong Bordeaux," I reply, waving my hand at the wine list that she holds out for me.

"Will that be for the table?"

"He will take a sample, perhaps a taste of young Lambrusco." I tell her, after several minutes of watching Sean fidget.

"Excellent choice," she replies, smiling as she sweeps off.

"Dude, seriously, why couldn't we go somewhere American?" He asks, still fingering his oyster fork.

"Sean, this is an American restaurant attempting to be a French restaurant… I'm not sure what more you want from me." I reply with a chuckle. "Elbows off the table, _petit_. There—not in your lap either. Put the fork down…"

"I'm nervous, get off my shit!"

I feel eyes on us and I take a deep, calming breath. "Sean, we are not in the South of France, stop cursing."

"Dude, just… chill out, I'm sorry my manners ain't super Spy awesome, but seriously. I'm used to a fork, knife and spoon, a plate and _one_ goddamned glass, not three plates with a million sizes, a bowl—what the fuck is this even doing here?—and five forks, three knives, two spoons and, what? _Four_ wine glasses."

"They are not _all_ for wine."

"Don't make me come over there and bust your lip." His warning makes me sigh and I glance around at our fellow diners, a few are chuckling, though most of them just look annoyed. "Seriously, five forks?"

"I told you, they are for different things…" I reply with a bit of a sigh and watch him pick up his dinner fork.

"You see this fork? I'm going to use it for my whole meal." Sean grins and sits back, slumping triumphantly in his seat. "Okay?"

"Sean, they are—"

"No, no, no… wait, let me…" he places his dinner fork back down and picks up his salad fork and dessert fork, examines them closely, and then looks up at me. "Nope, they're the _same damn fork_."

"Stand up, we're leaving."

"Wait, what?" he stares up at me, like he can't quite believe what I said.

"If you are going to act in such a manner, then we will go to an American diner and eat a burger and you can have a milkshake like the child you're being." My voice is low, so that the other diners will not over hear us.

"I… okay, okay, I'll behave, sh—jeez…" he reaches over the table and his hand grips the cuff of my jacket, trying to placate me.

"It is not cute and it is not funny and I am not impressed thus far." I tell him, pulling my hand back and instantly wishing that I hadn't. The look on his face makes me want to take his hand and hold it, but the only public display of affection that might go unnoticed here is my foot gently bumping his.

I take a moment to sigh and give him a small quirk of my lips, not quite forgiving, but not as angry. "Behave, and we can stay." I say, seeing our waitress approaching with two bottles on a tray. _Dieu merci._

"Isn't there supposed to be a bucket too?" He asks, sitting up and attempting to mimic my posture.

"Only white wine and champagne are to be served chilled, red wine is best at room temperature." I inform him. Our waitress presents the bottles to me and I read the label of the Lambrusco. "Pour him a taste, and we shall see what he thinks of it." I tell her with a charming smile after inspecting the Bordeaux as well.

Sean watches her uncork the bottle and pour a sufficient amount in his glass for a taste. He looks from her to me, then to his glass and then back to me before taking it by the bowl of the glass and tilting it up. He doesn't sip, just tosses it back.

Our waitress giggles when he makes a face and I sigh heavily.

"Please pour again." I tell her, motioning to both of our glasses. She pours another taste of the wine in his glass before setting the bottle down and opening my Bordeaux. I carefully pick up my wine glass from the stem and look at Sean pointedly. He mimics me, and I raise the glass to my lips, taking a sip before setting it back down on the table.

He sips and looks at the glass and then up to me. "Oh… yeah, that's… pretty good?" He takes another sip, as if he isn't quite sure of his opinion. He looks at me again to see if he's doing it right. I smile encouragingly in reply.

"Would you like a glass, then?" I ask, and he nods. It is far too sweet for my own tastes, but Sean loves sweet, so I assumed that he would enjoy it. Whether he's saying that he wants a glass to be polite or because he genuinely likes the wine, I'm glad that he seems to want to act a little more cordial than earlier.

Sean watches her fill his glass half-way and looks like he's about to complain when I kick him. _Americans_.

She fills my own glass with Bordeaux, and I wait until she has gone to say, "that _is_ a glass."

"But it's only half full…" he whispers, as if it might not be obvious.

"It's a glass. You may have another if you finish that one." He doesn't look satisfied, but he nods anyway.

Upon our waitress's return with a basket of bread and a pitcher of water, I request that she leave the bottle of Bordeaux. Then, I make one more request of her.

"Will you please remove everything except the main course implements from our table? The bread and butter service may remain as well."

"Of course, _Monsieur_." She carefully clears our table until only our wine- and water glasses, dinner- and salad forks, soupspoons, bread plates, butter- and dinner knives are left.

"Is that better, _mon ami_?" I ask Sean, raising a brow at him. He blushes and nods as the waitress walks away, taking a tray of plates, bowls and silverware with her, as well as the bottle of Lambrusco.

"Yeah, thanks, Spy."

I gently rub my foot across his ankle and then up his calf. "_Amor, _this night is for enjoyment, not posturing. I want you to have fun, _oui_?" I will admit that I had lost sight of what a date was supposed to be like. It's supposed to be fun and enjoyable, something that I was taking out with my strictness. I am just so used to dating… well, not Sean.

Sean smiles at that and I feel his foot graze its way along my leg before retreating to his side of the table once again. "_Oui_." He replies, and though it's a heinous pronunciation, I smile in reply and accept the menu that our waitress returns with. He waits until she's gone again to grab a piece of bread and begin devouring it.

I suppose he is used to eating several hours earlier than we are now.

I take a piece as well and pull off bite size bits while he rips chunks off with his teeth. Somehow, I refrain from commenting. Tonight is destined to be an exercise in restraint for the both of us, it seems. I take a discrete sip of wine and look at the menu, written in French with English translations beneath. I snort at the menu before me and feel my poise relaxing.

No wonder my local dates have never been interested in this place, its menu is simply riddled with flawed French and imperfect dishes. Some boast an American "twist," but it doesn't make them sound any more appetizing.

My restraint throughout the night folds and one glass of wine turns into several as I try not to care about my lover's less-than-perfect manners. He is as sloppy an eater here as he is at the base- talking with his mouth full, though it is not quite at the normal volume; chewing loudly and with far too much gusto. He flirts with the waitress. Though, to his merit, she is the one who started it. He doesn't finish his glass of wine, making me glad that I hadn't bought him a bottle of his own. However, it means that he is far more sober than myself by the time we finally leave.


	24. Chapter 24

**Man, I hope none of Spy's French is fail!French. I suppose it's a little late to worry about it, though.**

* * *

"Dude, that's fucking bullshit!" Scout whines as we leave the restaurant, but I am laughing. "No, you don't get to laugh!" He yells at me, pushing me off the sidewalk and into the road. It makes me laugh all the harder when he crosses his arms and continues walking without me.

"But…" I pause to snicker and foil my attempt to catch my breath by breaking into laughter again. "But she was pretty, you should have…" I can't finish the sentence and he pushes me again as I begin laughing again. It's a rare thing that I become a whimsical drunk. Then again, I don't usually have Sean attempting to entice me into a game of footsie throughout dinner either.

During previous trips, I had seen Scout's attempts to get a date before. They were pathetic at best. Tonight, though, he hadn't even been trying and the waitress had mentioned that she'd "get off in fifteen minutes." Scout had laughed and looked at me nervously, but seeing my smirk told him that I was more amused than threatened by a pretty face.

"Lay off, dickface."

" 'N… naw…' " I mimic him, clasping my hands and wavering on my feet. " 'I mean… I'm flattered an' all—' " his elbow cuts me off, jabbed hard into my side.

"Shut. Up." He growls, crossing his arms and pouting as he continues walking, leaving me behind. I chuckle and follow him. Catching up with Sean, I drape an arm around his shoulders.

"Shall we time how long it takes for me to charm my way out of the dog house?" I ask him, chortling softly.

"No thanks." He grumbles, pushing me away with an irate huff. I chuckle and casually put my hands in my pockets, allowing silence to lapse between us with a smile. I think I saw the corner of his mouth twitch, though.

Two blocks from our hotel, we hear the metallic crash of trashcans. Scout has allowed me to walk close to him for the last block, and I am about to venture my arm around his shoulders again. Yells and obnoxious laughter follow the crashing cacophony. Scout zips off with a whoop and I sigh, cursing my luck. We aren't in the hotel yet, of course he's going to get into the first fight he hears.

"Sean, take off your jacket first!" I call, knowing that running after him myself is futile. He turns around, backpedalling as he slips the piece of clothing off, and tosses it back to me. I barely snatch it from falling to the ground. He turns back around and begins wrenching at his tie, getting it loose enough to unbutton two shirt buttons before giving up and putting on another burst of speed.

He zips around a corner and I'm left walking at a sedate pace as I approach the alley. My hear thrums oddly in my chest, though I am not sure why. There are a few civilians on the sidewalks, but they calmly avert their eyes and hurry past the violence contained in the alleyway. A bent trashcan lid rolls out of the alley in a lopsided manner and as I approach it, I see a glint of red around the rim. My pace quickens and I bound the last two strides, fearing what I might see.

"You're too late, man."

I raise my eyes to look down the narrow passage and see Scout: rumpled, bloody—entirely like himself again. My hand is on my jacket, ready to slip around the grip of my pistol. I slip my hand back down to hang at my side.

A perfectly tailored suit cannot hide Sean's nature, only mask it to those who don't already know him. He grins and blood flows freely from his split lip before he wipes it- _mon Dieu_, why do I even _try_?—on his sleeve, further ruining his shirt.

"No, I am precisely on time." I reply as I smirk, cool as ever, and survey his opponents. I'm not sure which of them started the fight, but Scout unquestionably finished it. Several of the men have varying style tastes and three of them bear visible tattoos- two of them match, one does not. "Come, you will catch cold if you stand there like that for the rest of the night." My words are more to get away from the scene if the police arrive than being actually worried about him becoming ill.

"Then gimme my jacket back." He tells me, hopping over the men and reaching for his dinner jacket. I scoff at him and hold it out of his reach.

"No, it will take enough cleaning to get the stains out of your pants; you will not get blood on this jacket as well." It doesn't stop him from reaching for it, and trying to wipe blood on me when I refuse to relinquish it. I shove him away and hurry down the sidewalk.

He chases me half-heartedly the rest of the way to our hotel. People stare when we run through the lobby and I suddenly realize how juvenile I look running away from Scout with a disgustingly happy look on my face. My pace slows, but Scout grabs my wrist, zips past and yanks me into a newly vacated elevator. He punches the button to the top floor before shoving me against the elevator wall- he barely gave the door time to close.

I hold the jacket above my head, refusing to allow him to have it. His lips graze mine and I can taste his blood on my lips, it's metallic and electrifying. I drop the jacket and push him back against the far wall, not giving him enough time to scoop his jacket up before pinning him with my lips on his.

"Shit… Spy, c'mon, what if-" he cuts off when my tongue traces the wound on his lip and a noise I haven't heard before slips out of his throat. He's right, though. The elevator might stop… and he didn't even press the correct button. I reluctantly retreat and straighten my mask before hitting a different button, the correct one.

We fall into silence and listen to the elevator move smoothly along. I watch Scout from my place across the elevator, allowing my eyes to flick over him hungrily. He smirks at me and leans back against the wall, his jacket draped almost neatly over his arm. The elevator takes forever to reach our floor.

We walk down the hallway, silent aside from our muffled steps on the carpet. I count my footfalls, trying to keep my mind off of the young man walking next to me. I pull out the key and slip it into the lock, fumbling a bit and hoping that he doesn't notice.

As soon as the door is open, he shoves me inside and lets it shut itself behind us.

We don't touch the light, too busy pushing and pulling at clothing, hair and skin. I maneuver us to the bed, habit taking my feet around the coat rack and alongside the bed itself to avoid shoving Scout's back against the footboard; it's quite uncomfortable.

His lips brush my cheek and I hear him laugh a little. "You come here often?" He asks, closing his eyes and grinding himself up against my thigh resting between his spread knees.

"Perhaps…" I breathe against his hair before tracing my tongue along the shell of his ear and biting the lobe sensually. "Are you jealous?" My chuckle is low and makes his hips jerk up against my thigh.

"Fuck yes I am…" his words are borne on a hiss, just barely there. "You better make it up to me." His voice is harsh and it cracks needily in the darkness.

I don't reply, just slip away with a grin. His legs try to latch onto me, but I'm too quick. I feel heels kicking at my sides in an attempt to hook me back, but I push his feet away as I retreat.

"Just stay there, _amor_… I'll make it up to you." A grin follows my promise and I slip over to turn on the light. He squints his eyes at the sudden flare and blinks blankly as I cross to my bag and retrieve a tube of lubricant. He wiggles a little when he sees it and sits up.

"Lie back." I order, taking hold of his underwear and pulling down. He kicks his legs a little once they're past his knees and I place my own knees between his legs and slip my hands around behind him to move him further up on the bed.

"S-Spy…" he jerks his head back and forth, trying to find the best view to watch me lean down and kiss his hardening prick.

"Sean- for the moment- I'm just going to suck your cock." I tell him before slipping my lips around his head and tracing my tongue along its swollen surface.

"Oh… yeah, okay, that's fine… I guess." His voice is a mumble by the time he finishes speaking. I take him deeper into my mouth and he groans, gripping the sheets. "Shit, yeah, okay, it's cool… _totally cool_." High and reedy, his words drive me to begin toying with him, my tongue eagerly laving the underside of his cock. If I press the tip of my tongue against him hard enough, I can feel our pulses beating counter to each other.

His hands grip my hair, making me gasp around him when he pulls hard. The direction he is forcing my head in changes suddenly, and I realize that I am not bobbing nearly enough for his desperate needs. My hands encircle his wrists and I force them out of my hair and down onto the bed. He whines and bucks his hips in response.

I roll my eyes and begin bobbing faster, sucking harder. The easiest route to get what I want is to make him relax, if he is unwilling to allow me the pleasure of drawing it out, then that is his loss. He laughs as I finally bend to what he wants. It takes all the romance out of the act, but he seems happy with the hard, fast, dirty blowjob that he seems to want. His wrists are lax in my hands, no longer straining to adjust my method, and he keeps his hips relatively still now that he is satisfied with my movements.

One of his legs wraps around my torso, his heel digging in just beneath my rib cage. His calf is presses against my side, strong and tense. His entire body is taut and his breaths come in hard, short gasps. I pull my mouth off of him and release his wrist to grip his spit-slicked member. His arm lies limp, hips twitching up into my still-gloved hand.

"Oh… oh, shit…" It's all I hear before Scout's coming across his own stomach. I throb at the sight of him, spent beneath me. Pliable. Relaxed.

My knees are dangling off the edge of the bed, but I pull myself up onto the rumpled spread. His eyes are closed until I grip his hips to lift him farther up the mattress. They snap open when my member touches his leg, hot and neglected.

His lips purse, teeth sneaking out to nibble as he shifts uncomfortably.

"Sean…" I murmur, kissing his chest. His hand comes up to twist in my hair, but he doesn't pull or push. I swallow, my heart pounding in the silence. My self-control is wearing thin, and my hips descend to grind on his leg. "Sean…" it leaves my throat as a groan.

"Yeah… yeah, okay… just… uh…" my lips cut him off, pressing and moving, nipping and sucking at his own. Once I feel him relax again, I pull back. He gives me a sloppy smile in response. "Is it going to hurt?" His eyes are hazy and his words are still thick with satisfaction. I trace my fingers along his testicles and watch him wiggle, grinning at me. Even though he looks more than a little excited, I can still see a nervousness in his eyes, the set of his jaw and the tautness of his body.

"Do you want the truth?" I ask, trying to ignore the ache of my own member as I pick up the tube from the bedside table.

"Are you gonna lie to me anyway?" Sean asks with a silly little grin, perhaps he knows that I would never intentionally hurt him. I chuckle and shrug my shoulders at him.

"Maybe…"

"Yeah, I want the truth."

"Just relax and you won't feel a thing." I murmur, kissing his stomach lightly before drawing back. He takes a deep breath and settles back, as per my advice. My slick forefinger gently presses into him, and I can tell that he is trying his best to stay still and loose for me. "Sean, just stare up at the ceiling and relax." I tell him softly, feeling him unknowingly fight against my finger. He winces and tenses more. I kiss his stomach again, trailing my lips along his taut muscles.

"_Détendez-vous_…" I whisper, nuzzling the sparse hair leading up to his belly button. _Relax… _

I continue murmuring in soft French, my finger wiggling farther in each time that I feel him relax again. He shifts and pants, gripping the bedding hard. I begin thrusting my finger in and out, eyes locked on his face. It looks as if he's finally realizing that he's not being wracked with unimaginable pain. His expression softens a bit and he tentatively relaxes his knees to either side.

"Are you ready for another?" My voice isn't as smooth as I would like, but Scout doesn't seem to mind, giving me a small nod.

I have only worked my second finger halfway in before he shifts and tilts his head to look at me. I give him an encouraging smile and trail my lips down to kiss his member. I pull my fingers out, reapply the lubricant and then slip two in with the fingertip of a third. Patience, patience…

Scout makes a soft noise, getting my attention, and he looks a little uncomfortable. "It's… it's not really doing anything for me." He says, his face red, perhaps because he is embarrassed, perhaps he is just flustered at the strange feeling of having something stretching inside him. "I mean…" I flick my fingers forward, hoping that they are deep enough. His expression changes completely and he whines softly. "Holy shit..." I rub my fingers gently against the spot, grinning up at him.

"This may hurt at first… but I think you will enjoy it." I pull my fingers back and Scout makes an unhappy noise, his hand straying to his member while I slick my own. My hands capture his wrists again and I pull his hands up above his head, pinning them with one hand and directing myself with my other.

He shifts and groans as I enter him, but the hot press of him steals my senses. All I can hear is the thud of my own heart and all I can see is Sean's body arching up to meet mine.

I don't know when my hand slips from his wrists, but it isn't long until my fingers are threading through his hair. Our lips are pressed hard together, his moans as muffled as my own, panting and groaning together as we rock into each other upon the bed. I feel him tense and my hands pull from his hair to grip his hips hard, thrusting with him, listening to the litany pouring from his mouth against my neck and shoulder.

We come together and I hear a laugh, though I don't know whose it is. My forehead presses to his cheek, my mask is stifling. I reach a shaky hand up to tug it off and toss it away. It makes it a few inches, hovering on the edge of the bed.

Good enough.

We're silent for a long moment, panting and enjoying the slick sweat and the heat of one another.

"Whoa."

I raise my head and press my lips to his cheek. " 'Whoa' indeed." I tell him, sliding off of him and feeling some of his mess from earlier come away on my stomach. I twist so that I do not get it on the bed and settle onto my side and slightly back. If I were to lie on my back, my ass would be off the bed entirely and my arm would be able to sprawl along the bedside table. The headboard is less than an inch away and I can see the change in color where his sweaty hair pressed against at one point during our foray.

"So that's why you moan like a bitch when I fuck you..." he is smirking and I frown unhappily.

"You do not always find it right away… I merely encourage you until you do." It is a lie, of course.

"Whatever, I feel disgusting." He sits up and wiggles a little, his face displaying the awkwardness that his body was feeling.

"It will go away." I tell him, swinging my legs off of the bed and standing on limbs of gelatin to approach the bathroom.

"Oh, there's a tub here, right?" He asks, moving to stand and then falling back against the bed. "Jesus fucking Christ, you _broke_ me!"

I merely grin at him before disappearing into the lavatory and walking over to draw a bath. The water is so hot that it steams, and I fill it halfway before turning the faucet off and looking up to my lover standing in the doorway.

"I can't believe that you sit like that even when you ain't wearing your fancy suit." He tells me, walking over to touch the water with his fingers. His hand jerks back and he lets out a yelp "Are you trying to cook me for a midnight snack or something? Fuck almighty."

I chuckle and take a washcloth, dipping half of it into the water before ringing it out and reaching out to wipe his stomach off before wiping my own as well.

"So that's creepy French for 'yes, Sean, I'm going to nom nom nom you until I have had my fill'?" He snorts at his own humor and I shrug.

"Well, I have you in a secluded hotel room for five days…" I flash him my most predatory smile before uncrossing my legs and slipping into the water. "I would like to think that I can pace myself." I spread my legs in invitation and he hesitantly eases in, whining (of course) and gasping at the heat of the water. He finally settles his back against my chest, the water lapping against my armpits as I place my arms up along the lip.

We are both silent for a time, but moments such as these are not made to last.

"Hm… hey, uh… Spy?" Sean's hands move up to rest on my own and his fingers curl around so that the tips of his fingers are grazing my palms.

"_Oui, mon amor_?" I press my lips to his hair gently and hold his hands, bringing my arms around his torso to hold him close against me.

"You know how we were talking back at the base?"

"Not specifically, no."

"Well, when you said I know you real well… it got me thinking..."

_Merde_. I know where this is going.

"… I don't really know anything about you… except you're French, a little straight and _really gay_ and you have the bluest eyes on the goddamned planet."

I smile at his description and nuzzle his hair. "You really like my eyes, _petit_?"

"You tryin' to change the subject?" his voice is wary and there is a slight threat to the way he voices the question.

"Oh, no…" I lie.

"Good." He takes a moment to regain what little momentum he had gained towards asking me about myself. "So… I wanna know more about you. We ain't on base, so it isn't like cameras or anything are gonna hear you…" his foot grazes mine and he twists his neck around so that he can see me in the corner of his eye. I attempt to keep my face neutral, but I can tell from his expression that I don't succeed.

I withdraw my arms from around him, allowing him to turn his torso. Yet another mistake, but I don't care. I have to see his eyes, it's the only way I will be able to keep myself from lying to him, making up excuses and cheating him out of his… whatever this means to him- victory, reward.

After a moment, I find myself leaning in to press my lips against his, then his cheek and then his ear. I have made up my mind.

"You must never tell anyone what I am about to tell you…"

"Cross my heart and hope to die." I hear water slosh with the motion that accompanies the promise and I purse my lips, finding that the morbid humor doesn't quite sit well with me. Now that I have recognized the sheer scope of my feelings for Sean, I cannot imagine him dying outside of respawn.

"_Je jure_ will do just fine…" I tell him, and I hear him mumble something approximate back at me. I take a deep breath and sigh, taking inventory on my emotions.

I stayed.

I had the opportunity to leave, but I turned it down and embraced this… thing, this affection and passion that I have for Sean. I felt _fear_ when I thought I might lose him, either by my own doing or another's violence while we are outside of the grace of respawn. I look forward to _sleeping_ with him and not _sleeping with_ him. My heart-rate fluctuates when I think about him and he is not in the room. I feel happiness unlike anything I have ever experienced.

"Ask me anything but my name." I tell him, pulling back to look him in the eye. His face brightens and I find my own lips upturning in response.

He settles against my chest again and I rewrap my arms around him, settling into the warmth of the water. His chin rests against my collarbone and his legs twine around one of mine.

"So how fucking old are you?"


	25. Chapter 25

**Heinously long author's note at the end. Make sure you read it, it has FUN THINGS and READER PARTICIPATION OPPORTUNITIES.**

**And now, for your not-so-regularly-scheduled chapter.**

* * *

"I want some fucking pancakes."

It took two days, four bottles of wine and an innumerable amount of questions, for Sean to make this announcement. I raise my head from my pillow, still a little tired from our last copulation.

"Hm… room service is no longer enough to satisfy you?" I ask softly before chuckling and letting my head fall back again. My back cracks in the silence when I shift closer to him.

Sean rolls over so that he's on top of me, and rests his chin on my chest with a barely constrained grin. "Yeah, and we ran out of my ma's cookies... You dick, those usually last me like two weeks."

"I'll make it up to you." I promise, raising my hand to play with his hair lazily. My eyes close again and I think for a moment that he might be content to leave me here and go off alone to get his pancakes, but he stays, wrapping his legs around my own and just generally being restless while I attempt to get some rest.

"Yeah, so… _those pancakes_…"

I sigh and sit up, ending up nose to nose with him. A small smile steals its way across my lips and I lift my chin so that I can press a kiss to his waiting lips. "It is the afternoon, who would still have pancakes this late?" Perhaps I relent too easily, but Sean did make a valid argument. I will have to let his mother know that a second box of cookies should be shipped post haste, and perhaps request a personal box as well.

"I 'unno, every city has a pancake house, though." He seems sure of the assumption, but I'm still suspect. What kind of a restaurant serves pancakes past one in the afternoon?

"… and you… want to walk around until we see one?" I ask, reluctant to get so much exercise from this mini-vacation. Who knows how long it will take us to find such a specific type of restaurant- especially in a part of the city that neither of us is explicitly familiar with?

"Maybe… or we could ask some locals." His stomach gurgles and the look that he gives me afterward makes me roll my eyes and press my lips to his again in acquiescence.

He is off of me in an instant and digging through his bag for clean clothes.

"I would like to shower first, though… I will not walk around smelling like sex for however long it takes us to find this place." I tell him, standing and stretching with an unenthusiastic sigh.

"Yeah, I'll grab something for you after," he replies as I enter the bathroom.

I shower quickly, knowing that his stomach has a high possibility of eating itself at the moment. His high metabolism and overly energetic approach to everything he does means that he has eaten his weight in room service since we checked in, possibly more. It also might be due to the energy requirement that our activities over that past few days have demanded, but that is neither here, nor there.

As I exit the bathroom, I see no suit lying on the bed, but jeans—too long and wide at the hips to be Sean's—and a familiar leather jacket. Upon closer inspection, there is a simple t-shirt beneath my jacket.

"Sean, what is this?" I ask, picking through the pile with what might almost be amusement. He can't honestly expect me to exit this hotel wearing such… _understated_ clothing. Aside from the jacket, of course, that is my own.

"Walking around in a suit has to get old after a while, right?" He asks, flopping on the bed with a grin and pushing the clothing toward me. "I mean, I was only in mine for a couple of hours the other night and I was ready for that shit to come off."

"Well… I don't think you were ready because the suit was boring you." I tell him, smirking a little and allowing myself to enjoy how well his own jeans fit his sprawling figure.

"Yeah, well…" he loops a finger through the band of my underwear and tosses them at me. "I wanna walk around with you without getting stared at because you're some fancy asshat."

"And you think that walking around in street clothes with a mask on is going to make people stare any less?" I snort at his plan and roll my eyes.

His expression changes. "Well…" he looks uncertain, and I frown, shaking my head as what he wants clicks in my own mind.

"No. No, Sean. No." I pull on my underwear and walk over to the closet where my suits are hanging and pull one out. I can hear his disappointment, and he is already stuttering out explanations and apologies. "Sean, have you forgotten about my perfect tan lines? Walking around without my mask might ruin them." I pull on one of my masks with a sense of finality and make sure that it is settled before pulling my shirt on as well.

Just because I allow him to remove my mask in private does not mean that I would ever go out in public with it off. The people of this town are used to seeing men in suits with masks on. A man in just a mask would be seen as a mere thug. As well, leaving this room without my mask was never a question.

I feel his hand on my shoulder and he turns me around, already pouting and ready to guilt me into accepting his apology. I turn right back around and continue attending to my buttons, unwilling to give into him so easily. Then, I feel his face press against my neck through my mask and his arms clasp around me firmly. I tie my tie while he pins my upper arms to my sides and feel my petulance slowly dissipate as his hand slips between buttons to skim over my skin.

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't know it was such a big deal." Sean mumbles against my neck.

I finish fiddling with my tie, straightening it far longer than necessary before I finally rest my hand on his and pull it up to press my lips against his knuckles.

"Asshat…" he snorts and hits my chest lightly with the other hand.

"_Connard_." I reply, releasing his hand so that I can continue to dress. It would be much easier if his arms were not in the way.

"Ohhh, that sounds like a dirty word." He snickers and withdraws himself from me before he can begin to push his luck again.

"It is." I agree, smirking a little and shaking my head. There is nothing more endearing in Sean's eyes than vulgar language.

"So what's it mean?" He asks, plopping on the bed while he waits.

"Hm… it can mean several things- the nicest of which is 'cocksucker'."

"Stop flirting with me, I told you we're going for pancakes, not spending another two hours in this room screwing around. Jeez."

As soon as he sees me make a move for my key and wallet, he's off the bed and waiting for me at the door. I smile and we leave together, hands bumping as we walk down the hallway. There is a guest behind us, so Sean would not dare actually take my hand.

In a bout of restlessness, he runs forward to press the button and is left tapping his foot impatiently while I take my time to catch up. The guest stops behind us and I see a twitch of disappointment accompany my lover's hallmark impatience. I bump my hand against his and he shoots me a scowl while I practice a façade of innocence. He sees through my front and his bony elbow jabs just below my ribs a little harder than necessary.

The elevator finally arrives and I rest a hand on his lower back to lead him in. His elbow finds my side again and I grin as I follow him into the elevator. We stand at the back and the other guest, a middle-aged business man from the looks of things, stands in front of us with his briefcase in hand.

Sean glances up at me, but I keep my eyes forward. He relaxes after one floor, and then I slip my hand around his.

He kicks me and I have difficulty withholding pained noise. I allow it to escape instead as a soft chuckle. Despite his violence, I persist and his hand stops squirming within my own by the time that we reach the ground floor.

I release his hand before the elevator doors open and step out after our lift-mate disembarks. On my way past the front desk, I rap my knuckles on the counter to get the attention of the lovely secretary and give her my most charming smile.

"We will be out for the day, could you make sure that our room is cleaned in the meantime?" I ask, calmly ignoring Sean's sputtering and carefully slipping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, I think he left something embarrassing out." I give her a sly wink as I pull out my cigarettes with my free hand. "Please add any due tip to my check." He rips my hand from his mouth and I use it to place a cigarette between my lips now that I'm not keeping Sean from yelling at me.

"Of course, sir." She hides a private smile as she looks down, jotting down my request.

"Dude, what the hell!" He exclaims as we exit the hotel. "They're totally going to know—"

"Shhh, enjoy the sunlight," I whisper, wrapping my arm around his shoulders companionably as I finally light my cigarette. I take a puff and let out a trail of smoke before leaning close to his ear. "So, where should we start looking for these pancakes?"

"Get the fuck off of me." He hisses in response, elbowing me for the umpteenth time.

"Keep elbowing me, and I will make you kiss my bruise later." I threaten him with a mocking scowl. It doesn't stay long, however, and I grin as I pull away. After placing my cigarette between my lips again, my hands find their way into my pockets as we casually stroll through the afternoon.

It takes several blocks for me to notice that Sean has gradually gravitated closer to me. I don't notice until his arm brushes my own, and then his hand hits my hip. A glance tells me that he didn't mean for the contact; he retreats to the edge of the walkway, following the curb as if it were the only viable path left to him.

"Can't stay away?" I ask innocently, watching him stare at his feet in a stony silence.

"Shut up." There's isn't any venom in his response, though. Perhaps there is even a small smile to his lips.

"No to worry, _petit_. I will tell no one." I promise with a soft chuckle. He jumps off the curb to push me, and I allow him to move me a half-meter off of my intended path before moving back to walk beside him again. Our hands brush again and he looks up at me from his contemplation of his shoes.

"You know everything, find us some pancakes." His scowl is dazzling after two days of dimly lighted passion and I feel an endearing smile steal across my lips. His elbow misses my side as I speed my step to avoid it.

"Very well, _mon amor_… I shall do my best." I make a show of glancing around at our surroundings before shrugging and shaking my head. "I'm sorry, but it seems as if you have overestimated my omnipotence."

"Omni-whatnow?" Sean looks up at me. "What's that? Some fancy word for being always ready to screw or something?"

"I believe you're thinking of potency… and, no, that's not at all what it means." I stop walking and stare at my surroundings. "Hmm… _excuse-moi, mademoiselle_…" I reach out my hand, gently touching the shoulder of a young woman that has just bustled past us.

She turns, looking as if she isn't pleased at all to have been stopped. However, as soon as she sees my charming smile, a little of the rigidity melts from her expression and her lips curve in a curious smile—if only just a little.

I lay on my French accent and move my hands more emphatically as I speak. "I'm sorry to have stopped you so abruptly, but my friend and I are not yet used to the time change… is there a place around here that we might find breakfast still? He has wanted to try the American pancakes for so long, and we are only in the city for a few days on business…" I rest my hand consolingly on Sean's shoulder and he pouts as pathetically as possible. Perhaps he overdoes it, but it's the most adorable expression I've yet to see his face make- outside of the bedroom, of course.

"Oh, of course! Erm…" she glances around to get her bearings before turning the way that we had come and pointing in that direction. "Two blocks down, then turn right. Four more blocks and you'll see a little café with twenty-four hour breakfast. I've never had their pancakes, but their coffee is decent."

"Ah, thank you so much!" I smile and clasp her hands in thanks before grabbing Sean's arm, linking with him and pulling him along while babbling in French to him.

"What the hell are you saying?" He asks once we're out of earshot.

"I was reciting a famous speech. You Americans are just fine dealing with foreigners, but chatty foreigners are something that you would just rather walk away from, hm?" I smirk and wink at him.

"Well, yeah, if you don't know what the fuck's going on." His defense is a half-hearted rationalization, and I clasp his arm tighter before allowing him to finally struggle away from me.

He only manages half-a-block before we're side by side again.

* * *

"These ain't the best pancakes _ever_. I mean, my Ma's pancakes are the best ever—you know that. Even though they ain't the best, though, they're pretty fucking good."

Sean has been chattering on for the past hour, eating plate after plate of pancakes while I sip a cup of surprisingly tolerable coffee. A half-finished croissant still sits on my plate, having lost my interest long ago.

"Hey, you're not listening to me." Sean's fork hovers centimeters from my nose and I snap my eyes from the bustling street to his syrup-dripping fork.

I jerk my arm away before any of the offending substance can dribble onto my sleeve. "… and you are not paying attention to where you're dripping your syrup."

"Yeah, sorry. Did I get any on you?" He surprises me by seeming mildly concerned.

"No, but—"

"Then stop whining and get the waitress again, I'm almost out of milk."

I discretely kick him beneath the table and he gives me a cheeky smirk. I reach over to set his almost empty glass next to the edge of the table, which he snatches back to drain before placing it before his plate again. After picking it up and placing it at the edge of the table again, I give him a pointed look.

"Last time, promise." He snickers and watches me snap my fingers. It takes less than a minute for our harried waitress to bustle by and replace his empty glass with a full one, top off my coffee and zip back off with a smile.

"Promise her, not me." I tell him, shifting in the lumpy booth seat with a sigh. "Well… part of it can be for me… these seats are atrociously uncomfortable."

"They ain't that bad." He shifts in his own seat before shrugging and shoveling more pancakes into his mouth. "Wood benches are worse," he mumbles through his mouthful of pancakes, or that is what I believe he has said. It is hard to really understand him through his food, but I'm getting better at it. It makes more sense than, "wool finches awash," anyway, and actually contributes to the subject of discussion.

"Indeed." I take a sip of my coffee and look across the café casually while he chokes down his mouthful of pancakes.

"So, wanna go to the park after this?"

The question catches me off guard, and it takes me a few seconds to process it. I keep my expression thoughtful, so that it seems like I am weighing the options while I actually figure out why he would ask me of all people if I want to go to the park.

"… the park?"

"Yeah."

_Why would I want to go to the park_? "You want to spend time with me in a public setting?" Parks are full of people, grass stains, dirt and animals.

"Yeah... As long as you keep your hands to yourself, I won't punch you." He smirks and drains the last of his milk before standing. "I gotta piss."

"I'll get the check." I tell him, waving him off with a sigh at his crass revelation. He just grins and I wonder if he knows that he's walking a tad slower than usual as he walks away.

My attention is finally pulled away from his disappearing rear when the waitress says, "sir," for the third time.

"Hm?" I look up at her with a charming smile to cover my distraction.

"Are you ready for the check, or will your friend have another plate of pancakes?" She returns my smile and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

She's pretty, blushes easily and has a slightly reserved manner that makes her endearingly sweet to interact with.

"No, I believe I will pick up the check." I reply with a soft chuckle. "I have never seen him eat so many pancakes… do give his complements to the chef, _oui_?"

"Of course, sir," she laughs softly and writes on her pad before gently resting her hand on my shoulder. "I'll be right back with your total," she promises as she walks off. I allow my eyes to linger for a moment until I hear a whoosh of the seat across from me.

"She's pretty hot." Sean's voice is surprisingly flat, and I raise a brow at his careful expression. He has never been one for putting on airs, and his poker face is almost depressingly horrible.

"No, Sean, she's pretty and kind." I watch him carefully, noticing the minute changes in his expression as he decides how to feel about my words. "And you…" I take a second to ponder my phrasing. I have never seen Sean so jealous before. "You are a jealous tyrant."

"Tyrant?" His lips quirk into a smile and he snickers. "Do you even—"

"Of course I do. I never thought that you would become so possessive over me as to even want my thoughts."

He flushes and shrugs, looking down at his fiddling hands. His head comes back up when the check arrives and I hand her several bills. She bustles off to get my change and I nod my head toward the door as I stand.

"Let's go to the park, _amor_, today we will do whatever you like. However-"

"We ain't in the room, so no questions. Right?" It isn't really a question, more of a confirmation that he understands. I simply nod and he follows me to the door.

Once we're outside, I allow him to lead me to the park, surprised that he knows how to get there from the unfamiliar place from which we started. I even begin to wonder if we are lost several times, but he doesn't seem uncertain about where we are headed, so I trust him.

Trust. A rare quality for me to give, especially to someone so… well, he is obviously not _undeserving_ of it. However, Sean has certain qualities that, perhaps, make him seem a less likely candidate for such a momentous happening.

My hand discretely brushes his own to fill the silence, and he glances at me irately. I smile and my fingers gently bump his again. It might be my imagination, but I think his hand swings back with my fingers as a token of accepting the gesture before his arm swings forward again, and his head swivels back to face the front. A small smile curves his lips and I can't help smiling a little myself.

I don't even remember how we keep ourselves contained around our team. Perhaps we don't and they just refrain from commenting, or don't notice the slight movement of our bodies as our hands, legs and feet touch beneath the table. Our eyes have difficulty staying on task and our conversations usually turn back to include one another.

Perhaps they merely see us as good friends. It would be a small mercy for them not to assume immediately that our closer interactions as of late are completely due to a relationship.

We enter the park silently and I allow Sean to lead me off of the path and down a grassy hill.

"So, why don't you like the park?" He asks after glancing back at me and no doubt seeing the expression on my face. The grass is far past the length it should be and the edges of my slacks are already accumulating grass stains.

"Because, despite scenery and romantic picnicking purposes, parks are dirty, grassy and usually contain two of my least favorite things." I tell him, grimacing and casting a longing look back to the neat, grass-free concrete path.

"Uh… I don't see any Pyros around here." He chuckles and turns to walk backwards, stretching his arms before folding his hands behind his head.

"Worse than Pyros."

"Whoa, whoa… you hate something worse than Py?"

"I do not hate _our_ Pyro… he is merely…" I purse my lips. It wasn't really _hate_, just… _intense dislike _and_ distrust_ mixed with _fear_ and a little more dislike on top of it all. However, I wouldn't go so far as to say _hate_. At least, not explicitly. Sean has a big mouth, and it might get back to that little psycho.

"You hate 'im." Sean informs me before turning around and running off toward the baseball diamond.

I reluctantly follow him at my own pace and watch him flop down on the grass beneath a shady tree. It is an acceptable distance from the chain link fence; however, once I finally catch up, he pats a patch of grass and grins at my expression.

"Aw, c'mon, it's just grass."

I don't reply, just lean against the tree coolly and cross my arms.

"You are _such_ a girl." Sean sits up and pulls his shirt off before tossing it on the grass beside him. He gives me a pointed look before leaning back again.

"You look like a hooligan in only your undershirt." I tell him, though I lean down to carefully arrange the shirt before sitting and leaning back against the tree with my legs stretched out beside Sean.

"And you look like… like…" he can't seem to find a proper insult and I smile, closing my eyes. "Hey, I'm not done talking to you."

"I do not need my eyes to listen to you stutter out a half-baked insult." I reply, smirking when I feel his hand hit my ankle. "Well, that wasn't nice…" he hits me again. "I thought we were lovers, not—" I finally open my eyes when he punches my leg instead of merely hitting it. "That one actually hurt."

"Shut up, ass."

"Please, darling, we are in public- control your love language." The look he gives me in return for that barb is absolutely priceless and I settle back against the tree with my eyes closed again.

We share silence for several minutes and I am allowed to enjoy the fresh air until he hits my leg again.

"Dude, look, I ate so many pancakes—Hey, _look_!"

I sigh and open my eyes when he hits my leg yet again. I look over to see him with his hands on his stomach and a pout on his lips. It turns into a grin as soon as he sees me watching him and he points to his stomach.

"I ate so many pancakes, my stomach is huge. Fucking hilarious, right? I look like I'm pregnant or something." He pulls up his under shirt and pokes at his swollen stomach.

"Yes, hilarious… we have a pancake baby. Perhaps we should start using protection."

"Little late, innit?" He snickers and puts his shirt back down before folding his hands behind his head.

"Perhaps," I agree with a sigh. "I suppose your mother will kill me, hm?"

"Oh, yeah… Dude, you're dead." He grins, but there's something off about his expression. His eyes aren't quite as cocky as they should be and I watch him carefully after he returns to staring at the sky.

I gently nudge his shoulder with my foot and he glances up at me again, face curious. I glance at the people walking around and beckon to him. "Come closer, _petit_."

He wiggles closer to me and rests his head next to my knee.

I tilt my leg closer to rest against his hair. "Is your mother alright?" I ask, watching his face for a change in expression.

"Yeah, she's fine as far as I know…" he shrugs and closes his eyes again. Minutes pass and I nudge him again. "Seriously, _what_?"

"Tell me what's on your mind."

"I don't…" he hesitates and opens his eyes to glance at me. "Are you…" a deep breath steadies his nerves and he wiggles closer. "You staying at the base for Christmas again?"

His question catches me off guard and I raise my brow at him. I cover it with a smirk and wink at him. "Are you afraid that I will get lonely without you for a week?"

"Kinda… but… I was also kind of thinking you could come with me to Boston and… _y'know_..." He bites his lip and one of his hands comes up to grip my trouser leg.

"I'm… certain that I do not know, Sean." I raise my brow at him, wondering why he is so nervous about asking me to spend the holiday with him.

He sighs dramatically and hauls himself up to lean against the tree beside me, glaring at anyone that might walk near us and frightening them off of their projected path. "I want you to be there when I let my ma know that I'm batting for both teams."

"You're going to tell your mother that we are having sex?" I snort and shake my head.

"Well of course I'm not gonna say _that_." He glares at me and crosses his arms. "I was thinking about something more along the lines of, 'hey, Ma, this is my boyfriend.' "

"Really?" I stare at him incredulously. "That's all you have?"

"Yeah, what'd you say to your parents?"

"What did we say about questions?" I remind him, facing the baseball field again.

"You did not just pull that out on me…"

"Shush, I think they're about to score a touchdown."

"Fuck you." He wiggles back down and lies on the grass again.

The silence stretches between us and I eventually close my eyes to avoid seeing the disappointed look on his face. He has a gift for niggling my conscience, but now is neither the time nor place for this discussion.

Just as I am about to drift off, I feel something hit my foot _hard_ and my eyes snap open, an accusation hot on my tongue. Why would Sean suddenly punch me like that?

"Are you okay, Spy?" Sean is crouching next to my leg, his hand resting on my foot and his other hand on the real perpetrator—a worn baseball resting between my calves.

"What happened?" I ask, frowning.

Sean, however, is already standing and holding up the ball threateningly. "Hey, asshats, watch where you're hitting this thing!" He yells before flinging it back with perfect precision into the waiting mitt of the player in the middle.

There's a moment of silence before one of the players breaks from his place on the field and scrambles over to us. "Hey, sorry, man." He smiles and rubs the back of his neck with a laugh.

"Yeah, whatever, just keep it in the diamond."

"Whoa, whoa, that wasn't even our batter… that was our substitute pitcher. He's used to being a short-stop… but our pitcher bailed on us, so we had to make do. He kind of sucks."

"He sucks _ass_ if he was trying to get it toward the plate." Sean agrees, snickering at the other player's incompetence.

"Yeah… so, you wanna play?"

"I…" Sean glances at me and I raise my brow at him. Surely he would not—"I dunno, my friend doesn't really like to watch baseball, and we don't get to spend much—"

"Sean, go play." I tell him, kicking his foot lightly with my own. He looks surprised and a little relieved. His eyes reflect excitement and suspicion at the same time.

"Really?"

"Of course. We have the rest of the day, and you rarely get the opportunity to _really_ play." I shoot him a wink and smirk. "Show me that your brags are not all bluster, hm?"

"Don't know what that means, but if you're in, I have an extra mitt." The other boy is already walking back toward the field with the other players yelling at him.

I notice that Sean is still hesitating, looking at the field longingly. My foot rises to push him forward with my heel against his rear. "Go. I know that batting in heads can't be anywhere near as fun as hitting little white balls. As well, throwing them without the intention of killing others is _far_ more exciting." I watch as Sean's expression turns into a grin and he reaches out a hand to me. I extend my own to clasp his before he slips out of my grasp and races off toward the field without another word.

* * *

**Okay, so I know that a lot of people were probably looking forward to Spy and Sean's question and answer session, but it's really not something that Spy would include in his narrative. It would be a crime to his character for Sean not to, though, and doing it twice would make me feel like a word count monger. **

**Also, I want to be completely thorough with it and have Sean ask as many questions as possible, so this will give me some extra time to think of them. I'd also like to hear any questions that you readers would like to know the answers to as well. If you would like, you can either PM me or send a review with your question(s) and, if it is something that Sean would ask (there's probably very little that he **_**wouldn't**_** ask, really). I'll be sure to include it when it gets to the Q&A part in Sean's narrative, which is going to come after the wrap-up of this story, and it will be its own separate fic even though it follows the same storyline. **

**My aim is for them to be able to be read independent of each other, while still meshing harmoniously.**

**One more thing: if there are any artists out there who would like to draw a picture of Sean and Spy holding hands/cuddling/Sean punching Spy for a story cover, I would like to take advantage of the new Image Manager, and all I can find of Scout/Spy pictures involve them making out (or more than making out) or Scout's mom is involved. (Preferably gray scale because I'm trying to keep the teams ambiguous. It must also adhere to the guidelines of the cover images, which making out and more than making out do not fall under, sadly.) **


	26. Chapter 26

**No, this is not filler fluff. Shhhhh...**

* * *

Sean and his newfound friends play until it is almost dark. I'm sure that they would have succeeded in stretching the game longer if a fight had not broken out. While I'm still not entirely sure what the cause of the scuffle was, by the time that it ended, Sean and the other young men were laughing and punching each other's arms in lieu of faces.

As he walks back toward me from the field, I take in the dirt and blood on his shirt. One of his legs is covered with dust up to the hip from sliding. The other looks moderately unperturbed, aside from grass stains.

"Of _course_ you had to get sweaty and dirty and—" I pause and take in the bloodstains standing out dark against the white of his undershirt. As I observe it, I wonder whose it is, since he doesn't have any bleeding wounds. "Whose blood is that?"

"Probably Joey's. Guy bleeds like a total bitch." Sean announces as he plops down next to me with a grin. He raises his hand to wave at the departing players and several of them yell good-natured obscenities back at him.

"Yes, well… as soon as we get back to the hotel…" I reach over to tug at his shirt to better view the blood spattered on it, "you will wash Joey's blood off of you and then we will be going out to dinner." I tell him, standing and straightening my suit.

"Wait, what? But… when we got back, I wanted…" His voice trails off in a whine and he stares up at me as if I have stolen something precious to him.

"I would like to get back to the room before dark, Sean." I reach my hand out to him and pull him to his feet with a smile. "If you are so very against going to dinner with me tonight, we can just cuddle." He makes a face at my suggestion and my smile turns into a grin as I let go of his hand. "Is that a 'no?' "

"We're stopping at a diner and eating greasy diner food. Then we're going to go back to the room and I'll tell you what's going to happen from there." He glances around conspiratorially before setting off across the grass.

"You are going to put this back on before we go _anywhere._" I insist, shoving his shirt into his arms as I catch up to his fast pace with my longer strides.

"Why, don't want anyone getting jealous of this?" He grins and hangs his shirt around his neck. I assume that he is trying to posture for me, and smile patronizingly at his attempt.

"Yes, please clothe yourself before I have to fight off a horde of women just to get a kiss." I rest a hand on his hair and pull him in for a hug, which he accepts for a few seconds before fighting his way out.

"Yeah, yeah… keep your shirt on." He smirks at his word play before pulling his t-shirt back on. I find myself unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reply, and we exit the park in silence.

* * *

Our room smells as fresh and clean as the day that we arrived. Sean stares for a moment, taking in the absence of our accumulated room service trays, empty water- and wine bottles. Any dirty clothes that had been lying around are also gone. Sean's bag is, no doubt, neatly tucked into the closet and the bed is freshly made with clean sheets.

Before Sean can make another move, I grab the collar of his shirt, effectively keeping him from leaping sweaty, bloody and dusty into the newly made bed. He makes an abrupt gagging sound and grabs my hand, but my grip is unrelenting as I steer him toward the bathroom, my other hand gripping his belt for better direction.

"No, we are going to sleep in clean sheets. You are going to shower before you even think about touching this bed. Now." I inform him, pausing for a moment to open the bathroom door before pushing him (none too gently) through and into the bathroom.

"Hey, hey, no man handling!" He glares at me for the briefest of moments before grinning. "Unless you're going to join me, of course..." he winks as he turns around and strips his shirts off, stretching as he does so and rolling the lean muscles beneath his skin.

I calmly take a step back and shut the door to the bathroom.

"Spy, _come on_. Is this about the waitress?" He cracks the bathroom door and peeks out. I kick my shoe off at the door and force myself not to smile until he has retreated into the bathroom once again.

Honestly, the diner food was horrible and the tea that I ordered was made with unfiltered, disgusting city water. Sean, however, did provide me with perfect entertainment that almost made up for his horrible choice in venue. After an offhand reference to the debacle with the attractive waitress at our first dinner date, Sean took it upon himself to flirt with our waitress in order to show me that he "has game," and prove to me once and for all that it was not the suit and combed hair that had caught her interest.

Sean was relentless to the poor girl, dropping hints and lines and generally making an ass of himself in an attempt to get her to… I'm not really sure what his aims were, honestly, other than to prove a point—at which he failed with every word and action.

I fold my clothes neatly into a dry clean service bag before slipping under the covers. I leave my underwear on, unable to remember the last time Sean and I slept together with a layer between us. I briefly enjoy the crisp rustle of hotel sheets coupled with a freshly laundered scent. It isn't long before the shower shuts off and Sean strides out of the bathroom with his hair still damp. He is clean, though, so I don't complain.

"Miss me?" He grins and plops down on top of the comforter.

I roll over, playing the angry boyfriend a little longer.

"Aw, c'mon…" I feel him shift and his bare skin soon presses against my back. The damp from his hair seeps through my mask and his hand travels up my body to remove it. As soon as my mask is on the floor, he begins rubbing his cold, wet hair against my neck and shoulder stubbornly. I realize that if I want any peace, I have to speak to him.

"Sean, I was perfectly comfortable before you came and started rubbing your wet hair all over me." I grumble, pushing back against him with my elbow and squirming. My escape is made complicated by the constricting arm he has locked around my middle.

"Shut up, you know you like the attention." He snickers softly and ceases his assault on me for the moment. His arm around me, however, presses its hand against my stomach and strokes up to my chest teasingly before trailing back down to my navel.

"Sean, I am far too tired to…" his unmasking hand covers my mouth, but the hand on my front persists in stroking my skin.

"Seriously, man, why does everything have to be about sex with you?" He snickers softly against my ear, nipping it lightly for good measure.

In response, I close my eyes and relax, wondering if he will just let me fall asleep like this. His breath is warm against my ear, and his hand is applying a light pressure just past tickling against my skin. I'm on the precipice of sleep, my mind blank, airy and almost in the blissful ether, when he clears his throat.

Sean's hand stops moving as I pull back from sleep into the waking world, and I feel hesitant lips against my neck. "So, we're on for Christmas, right?" he mutters against my skin. His arm tightens around me, like he's expecting me to fight my way free, tell him exactly why I can't so something so personal, and storm out of the room.

When I do no such thing, his hand slips from my mouth and I wriggle around to face him. After I stare at him with a small frown for a while, my lips curve in a smile, and he relaxes visibly. His worried expression is already melting into a silly little grin when I press my lips to his.

"_Oui_… it's a date." I tell him, wrapping my arms around Sean and pulling him close. "Now, let me sleep, or I will banish you to the couch."

"Hey, how come I can't banish _you_ to the couch?"

The question is so ridiculous that I don't bother answering. Instead, I just close my eyes and allow myself to finally drift off to sleep.

* * *

Disentangling myself from Sean is, by now, a simple task that borders on habitual. First, I wait until his elbows aren't tense. Rubbing his shoulders and neck usually helps the process. Then, I worry about the placement of his legs. If they're locked around one or both of mine, I know that I should just give up on not waking him altogether. However, if our appendages are merely tangled, then—carefully—I can navigate my own legs out of the long, gangly mess that his make when he sleeps.

By moving carefully and shifting so that the covers trick him into believing that my warmth is still there, it really only takes a few seconds to extricate myself from Sean.

The room is cool outside of the covers, and I walk over to pull out some sleeping pants and a t-shirt before locking myself in the bathroom. I allow my shower to stretch out, enjoying being by myself for the first time in three days. Unfortunately, the warmth of the water can only feel good for so long, and I vacate the shower far too soon.

Returning to our room, I observe that Sean has taken it upon himself to stretch out over the entire bed and chuckle softly. After a few seconds of watching him sprawl aimlessly beneath the covers, I perch on the edge of the bed and tug the edge of the comforter out of his curled fingers. Once it is free, I pull it back so that his hand is out in the cool air. I watch with a mischievous grin; it only takes a few seconds, but his face twists into a grimace before his hand draws back, trying to find the warmth of the covers again.

A smile steals across my face, and I can't seem to force it away. Thank God that Sean's asleep, otherwise he would ask me about it. Ever since I allowed him to start asking me questions, it has become harder and harder to distract him from unwanted topics.

I give his foot the same treatment, though I also run my fingers across the sole teasingly before finally finishing torturing my sleeping lover. Satisfied, I pull the covers up and slip in next to Sean, pushing any limbs that I might come in contact with closer to his body and aiming to reclaim my half of the bed. By the time that I am under the covers and settled, however, I have only a third of the bed, rather than my entire half.

I nudge him lightly with my elbow, and feel him roll closer to his side. Quickly repossessing the remainder of my half, I feel him shift again, and half of his body rests on mine. A half-laugh, half-huff escapes me, and I roll my eyes before wrapping my arm around him and press my lips to his temple as he snuggles closer to me.

That damned smile still on my lips, I settle back again and close my eyes against the murky grey of dawn. His leg curls around my own, and I feel a hand grip my t-shirt as he snuggles closer to me.


	27. Chapter 27

**I feel like this isn't the best chapter, but it's a little necessary.**

**A special thank you to Ilana for the story cover, it's beautiful! 3**

* * *

"So you're really going to make me sleep on the couch if I screw this up?"

It is the fifteenth time Sean has asked me the same question. Instead of merely saying yes and giving his ass a squeeze, I smile and shrug as I allow the host to lead us to our table. For something a little more familiar to him, we are at an American impersonation of an Italian restaurant tonight.

"Aw, come on, you can't just not answer me!" His exclamation causes several heads to turn, and I give him a very clear, very pointed look that lets him know how close he is to failing this date _already_.

I spent all day furthering Sean's horizons. He has always had the groundwork for etiquette—his mother saw to that—but his horrid little cocksure attitude gets in the way most of the time. So, after outlining to him the consequences of being his little bitchy-self tonight, I gave him the choice of behaving, or occupying the dog house. Now that he has agreed to my terms, I just have to avoid baiting him.

We started with table manners. I allowed him to stick with his little American nuances instead of demanding Continental perfection. However, I did make sure that he understood very clearly that having his elbows on the table for any measure of time before we finish our meal would immediately disqualify him from the game. After glossing over the remainder of his table manners during lunch, we addressed his speech (cursing, double negatives, expletives, volume, double entendres, slang, euphemisms, threats, exclamations, etc.) and made certain that his suit didn't have any rips or tears from the first night we went out. When it came back from the hotel's laundering service, it was cleaned and pressed. If there had been any blood on it, it was no longer there, or no longer noticeable.

Sean sits in his chair with near-perfect posture, his shoulders back, head up, and his hands folded neatly before him on the table. I smile at him in reward, and he shifts a little, as if he is trying to keep his posture while preening under my silent praise. Other than his loud-mouthed slip up on our way to our table, he is doing well.

The waiter comes, and I order wine for myself. I give Sean the option, but he just smiles and looks up at the waiter to order an iced tea of all things.

I suppose I can be thankful that he didn't order a soft drink.

The waiters soon returns, and Sean suddenly realizes that he was too busy keeping himself prim that he hadn't even picked up his menu. He reaches across the table for it, but I swat his hand away and smile when the waiter asks if we are ready to order.

"I'll have the Parmesan encrusted medallions, and my date shall have the spaghetti." I tell the waiter, handing him our menus with a flourish.

Sean frowns at me and I give him my best, "I honestly have no idea what I have done," face. "Maybe I didn't want Spaghetti." He tells me after the waiter has departed.

"What were you going to order, then?" I ask him, remembering my earlier vow not to egg him on. I've never been terribly adept at listening to myself, the current relationship I am in will attest to that. Sometimes, I suppose, it's a good thing that I ignore my own advice.

"Spaghetti..." he says, ducking his head and smiling a little before folding his hands on the table so that he doesn't start fidgeting.

I slide my foot across to gently bump our ankles and he looks up at me again. "So, tell me about Boston."

The night goes well, I ask Sean about his home and friends, and he tells me stories about himself and his brothers. I can tell that it is an effort to keep his hand gestures modest, and his volume at an inside level, but he manages it surprisingly well. He doesn't curse in the entire time that we are in the restaurant.

When our food arrives, he waits until I have started before twirling his spaghetti, careful not to slurp any strands. This entire affair brings to mind a conversation I had with another Spy during a training demo with new weapons. His argument was that Scouts are impossible to culture, predict, or acclimate to a more refined state of mind. I wasn't so sure then, but I know now that, provided the time and effort, any Scout could be… well, _closer_ to being as proper as a Spy. They are just so young and moldable, that being around a group that is at least fifty-percent psychopath rubs off on them and does more damage on top of growing up with no goals or paternal direction.

Our waiter has just left with our dessert order when I see Sean's face darken. A hand touches my shoulder before I can comment, and I twist curiously to catch a glimpse of slick, parted blonde hair. Emilio. I stand, smiling, and trade a greeting of a firm handshake and two cheek kisses.

"Jaque, it is great to see you." His smile is broad, and he claps my shoulder with a laugh.

"_Oui, _it is a pleasure to meet again." I tell him, returning the gesture before glancing back at my now brooding date. He looks as if he would like to punch Emilio, so I tread carefully. "Emilio, this is Sean, a dear friend of mine." I make a silent motion for Sean to stand, and he does. They share a handshake, and I wonder just how hard Sean is squeezing the other man's hand.

"Nice to meet you," Sean greets him, giving an obviously forced smile as they part grips. "_Jaque_ doesn't talk about his pals too often, so I'm glad to finally meet one." There is a storm brewing in Sean. I can sense that I am in trouble, and, rather than feeling self-righteous and assuring myself that I am in the right, I find myself wondering just what exactly I have done wrong and how he's going to make me pay for it.

Emilio laughs and claps Sean on the back. "He doesn't say much, does he?" He agrees, winking at me.

I reply with a shrug, and Sean snorts. "Yeah, it's like pulling teeth." He grins and glances from Emilio to me before turning his eyes back to the other man. "You want to join us? We're already done eating, but—"

"Oh, no, no, I wouldn't want to intrude." He holds up his hands and shakes his head. "I have a business meeting in the other room, and saw Jaque on my way in. What kind of friend would I be, if I hadn't come to greet him, eh?"

"Thank you for your time, Emilio." I tell the man, taking his hand in a firm grip and hoping that he won't hug me in front of Sean. I'm already in the deep end, the last thing I need is someone jumping on me just as I get my buoyancy.

"It's no problem at all, Jaque." He smiles at me, shakes hands with Sean, and waves as we part ways.

We sit in a tense silence for several minutes while we await our desserts. The waiter pours tea to go with my cake. I smile and thank him, watching Sean begin to pick at his own dessert.

"Sean… is there something you want to talk about?" I ask, bumping his foot lightly with my own. He shifts, and I can tell that he is drawing back from me. A frown passes my lips, and I motion for the check.

Silence permeates our table, and I light a cigarette to pass the time, ignoring the cake and tea. Sean refuses to meet my gaze, his arms crossed and his jaw clenched. He looks as if he wants to say something, but is holding back. Oh, of course, he probably wants to yell at me, it's the only way he knows how to express himself.

Somewhere between my confusion and indignity over Sean's abrupt behavior, I feel a sort of pride that he isn't making a scene in the middle of the restaurant.

The check doesn't come soon enough. Sean stands as soon as it arrives and I take my time paying before following Sean out, wondering if he's really angry enough—

As soon as I exit the building, I see Sean already running in the direction of the hotel. Fingering both keys in my pocket, I decide that if he wants to act like a child, then he can wait for me to arrive. Lighting another cigarette off of my now finished one, I stuff my hands in my pockets and begin the walk back to our hotel.

* * *

When I arrive, Sean is sitting on the floor and leaning against our door, a sullen expression on his face.

"You could have told me I didn't have a fucking key." He grumbles when he sees me coming.

"You didn't ask, _mon petit…_" I smirk at his glare, and he stands as I draw out my key.

As soon as I open the door, hands shove me through, and it slams behind us. "I'm sorry, _Jaque_, I forgot I didn't know _jackshit_, and you don't tell me stuff unless I _Goddamned ask about it._" Sean is glaring at me, and I'm only a little concerned that he isn't yelling at me. Instead, his voice is low and laced with a bit of danger.

"Sean, what is this about?" I ask, taking my jacket off and hanging it in the closet. I hardly have the patience for dancing tonight.

"The only question I _can't_ ask is what your name is, and I learn it from some pretty boy at dinner?" He grabs my newly hung jacket and tosses it on the floor. I have only just undone my cufflinks, and frown, bending down to pick it up.

"Sean, there is a difference between a name and an alias." I tell him, brushing imaginary dust from my jacket before rehanging it in the closet. He just throws it on the floor again, prompting a haggard look from myself. I sigh and stand up straight, hands on my hips. "For instance, would you want your mother to call you Mr. Funtasdick?"

"Dude, that was forever ago…"

"It doesn't matter. _Sean_ is your name. Mr. Funtasdick is something you elected to be called." I take the step separating us, and rest my hands on his shoulders. "Some people don't understand that a Spy essentially has no name… so I have an alias, something to make them more comfortable when they speak to me." He wrests himself away and smacks my hands away when I try to grab him again.

"Yeah, whatever, but it's okay for _me_ to just call you Spy. I can't get an alias to call you? I can't even know that you got one? It's bullshit, you fuckwad. You're bullshit. Why can't you just fucking tell me, I ain't going to use it or anything. I just want to know!" We are back to the familiar cursing and high volume of Sean's rage. I feel a little more in my element than when he was speaking in harsh undertones.

"I can't!" God damn him, why can't he just let this go?

"Yes. You fucking. Can! Here, look!" He jumps on the bed and points to himself, glaring down at me. "My name is Sean. Fucking Sean. Occassionally known as Scout, or Mr. Funtasdick, but my _name_ is Sean! Oh no, now you and the people above and below and probably to _either fucking side_ know my name! I'm going to be hunted down for the rest of eternity!" He sneers, and jumps off the bed before kicking his shoes off at the wall. I barely catch him grumbling, "fucking spooks…" under his breath.

"Sean, you can't be this mad about a name… really…" He just snorts and tosses his jacket and pants at my face. After making a rude hand gesture, he grabs a pillow from the bed, and a spare blanket from a drawer in the dresser and plops down on the couch with a huff.

"Sean..." I frown, hanging his suit before walking over to attempt to get him to talk to me. Before I can perch on the coffee table, however,I get a foot in my stomach and a heel clipping the side of my head for my concern. I tumble back over the low table and the back of my head smacks against the carpet. "Fine!" I snarl, standing to slap the side of his head. "If you want to be a little prick and act like a goddamned five year old, then do so."

"I will, _dickwad_."

Tempted to hit him again, I merely retreat to the bed, making sure that my back is facing the couch. Ungrateful little ass. The one thing that I won't talk about, and he bitches and moans like it's such a big deal.

"Last one up gets the fuckin' lights." He whines from the couch.

I, however, just got comfortable and merely mimic his whining. Pulling the covers closer around my body, I try to ignore the fact that I'm still not warm enough to be completely comfortable. Silence reigns throughout the room, and I close my eyes against the light. It isn't until I begin to finally drift off, wondering if Sean is really so stubborn as to just leave the light on, that I hear the couch creak and light steps padding across the carpet.

The light switches off, and I stop clenching my eyes so tightly, relaxing with a victorious smile.

Then I feel something weigh down on the bed, feet jab into my side and hip from above and then there's a muffled thud as Sean hits the floor on the other side of the bed. "Child." I scoff, clutching my side with a soft noise of discomfort.

"Creep." He shoots back, and I hear a full-bodied thump as he plops on the couch again.

"You have to have the last word, don't you?"

The grumbling and name-calling continues long past when it should have. However, by the time that I finally drift off to sleep, I'm still trading murmured obscenities at the young man curled up against my back.

* * *

We don't apologize or even talk about our argument when we awake. Of course, _I_ don't apologize because I had done nothing wrong, and Sean is probably embarrassed that he can't stay mad at me for more than a few hours.

Engineer picks us up outside our hotel in that horrible van, and I reluctantly relinquish my bag to be strapped to the top of the van. Sean clambers into the biggest spot left open by our teammates and I end up squeezing myself in Demoman and the immobile armrest.

"May I see the file for our new base?" I ask Sniper, who is occupying the passenger seat yet again.

He tugs a manila folder from where it's stuck in the visor, and hands it back to me.

The pages are still crisp. The rest of the team probably hasn't the need or care to worry about the new base. I skim the details, a thorough read could be spared later, when the threat of carsickness was no longer looming over me. I chuckle at the sleeping arrangements. Five bunk beds all in one room—Sean will love that. I ignore the tinge of disappointment in my own gut.

I skim the base layout as well, recognizing it from a former posting. They're calling it Teufort now, a play on its original name that is half clever and half ridiculous. It's still the same objective, take a briefcase full of papers from the enemy, make it back to our own base without dying—_mon dieu_, respawn makes things so much easier. I feel a hand tap my shoulder, and flip the folder closed before handing it back.

"I call the room farthest from Demo!" Sean announces, and I have to duck in order to avoid the massive, drunken paw swinging around to bop Sean on the side of the head.

"Ach, you little rascal, you're just jealous you don't snore like a man!" Demoman retorts, turning around in his seat and almost elbowing me in the face.

"You mean like a _frickin' bear_." He shoots back, reaching over to slap the other man back and catching my own ear in the drawback. I shoot him a glare over the seat and he sticks his tongue out at me.

"If I'm a bear, then Heavy must be a dragoon!"

"Does little drunk man mean dragon?" Heavy asks from the back seat.

"Most likely." Medic quips drily from his position between Heavy and Scout. "He would be wrong, however. When I was doing sleep studies last year for my-"

"Blah, blah, boring paper, blah." Scout talks over him.

"... You do realize that you have to sit next to me for the next four hours, _ja_?"

"... Engie, I gotta pee, also, Medic and Spy are switching seats."

"You two ain't tired of eachother yet?" Engineer asks, glancing at his disquieted passengers in the rearview mirror.

"Are you kidding? I left my room like..." he counts on his fingers, "three times. Figure the odds on me seeing the crouton with those stats, Engie."

"It must have been one long skin marathon." Sniper comments from his seat. I feel a pang of jealousy at his plenty of legroom.

"Dude, not cool!"

"Sniper, could you please scoot your seat up a few inches?" I ask rather politely.

"Nope."

"Oh, good," sarcasm laces my words as Engineer exits onto the major roadway, "because I could still feel my legs. Now I can't, so it's what you Englishmen call a 'moot point,' _oui_?"

"I'm Australian, y'drongo!" He growls before reclining his seat and further constraining my legs.

"Engineer, Scout needs to urinate and I must switch seats with Medic..." I mention, forcing a bit of a plea into my voice. I hate team trips. The only way this could be worse is if _that thing_ were here.

"Sorry, boys, I'm already on this here highway, and we have a schedule to keep!" Despite his words, Engineer doesn't seem to be very sorry at all. I glower at the back of his head before settling back in my seat and sighing. "Don't think I didn't see that, partner."

Ten minutes down the road, I feel a hand tap my shoulder.

"Spy… hey, hey, Spy. _Spy_, gimme your jacket, I wanna take a nap." Sean pleads, his hand tapping my shoulder incessantly.

I sit still for a moment, mulling over his words. I'm honestly surprised that he's being so familiar with me in front of the team. I glance back at him and see that _look_, the one he gets when he wants something and he knows that if he just stares at me with his lips parted in a small grin, showing off his horse-like teeth and his eyes crinkled _just so_ that I will give in and all of his wildest dreams will come true.

"You want my expensive suit jacket so that you can used it as a pillow?" I ask him, raising a brow at him and watching that little grin widen slightly. He bats his eyelashes and I can't help but smile myself. Chuckling, I sigh and take off my jacket. "I suppose I did let you down, only getting you a date with your TV." Sean smacks my shoulder as I unbuckle my seatbelt and several of our teammates laugh along with the joke. After carefully handing my jacket back to him, I give Sean a sly wink and settle back into my seat with a sigh.

"So, what'd you do all week, Spy?" Sniper asks, moving Engineer's rear view mirror around so that he could view me as I stare out the window at the passing landscape. I hadn't even thought to get a novel for the ride.

"Me?" I ask, chuckling and folding my hands behind my head. "Oh, just the usual… sex, alcoholism and avoiding the rest of you. Sh- Scout," shit, I almost used his real name, "of course, was a failed protégé… perhaps we can try harder next time. Pull out the stops as they say."

"If ye need help with women, lad—"

"Demo, you don't let me sleep, I'll kick ya seat for the rest of the four hours we're in this dump." Sean kicks the Scot's seat for emphasis, and snickers are had all around before a newer conversation topic is found and I am allowed to separate myself from the rest of my team by leaning my head back and closing my eyes.

* * *

**Yay new baseeeee. **


	28. Chapter 28

I am awoken from my sleep by a huge hand jostling me. I open my eyes and glare seethingly at Heavy as my back feels the awkwardness of my sleeping position. My neck cracks horribly as I bring my head up from resting on Sean's hair, and I look around, completely disoriented. The van has stopped, and our team is looking at the Scout leaning on me as well as myself expectantly.

"Scout…" I surprise myself by remembering to use his class title instead of his real name. I bring my hand up to push his head off of my shoulder and he falls over against the side of the van, unwilling to stir.

"Mn…" he cracks an eye open and seems to realize that we are no longer moving. If he had woken up still leaning on me, he might have hurt himself trying to get away too quickly, so I'm glad that I had the foresight to push him away before he became too aware of our surroundings.

"C'mon, lads, we've got to get our stuff in, and the rest of the supplies as well!" Demoman's voice grates on my nerves, and I rub my neck through my mask with a sigh.

Well, it's back to wearing this blasted thing twenty-four/seven again… I watch Sean stumble out and get a good look at the outside of the base in the bright afternoon light. I follow him, collecting my jacket on my way and beginning to shake out the wrinkles as soon as I have the room.

"This place is a fucking dump." Sean announces as his bag knocks him to the ground, tossed at him by Sniper standing atop the van. My own bag follows his and flops gracelessly over his legs.

"Well, it is very old… it seems BLU has kept up their end a bit better than RED, though." I comment, comparing the two sides. Truth be told, I'm quite sure that the RED structure looks _exactly_ the same as it did fifteen years ago.

"Whoopetie fucking do..." Sean growls as he stands and flips our chuckling Sniper off before grabbing his bag from the dust. I examine my jacket before pulling it on. It's not quite wrinkle free, but it's moderately acceptable, I suppose.

I collect my own bag, glad that it hadn't had too rough a voyage down from the top of the van. We wait silently while the rest of the team finishes unloading their own things. After several minutes of silence, I realize that Sean isn't doing anything. He isn't babbling, or ranting. He isn't yelling at our teammates or making comments of any kind. He isn't playfully scuffing dirt onto my shoes, or any of the other ridiculous things that he might do to break the silence.

"So... ye looked a mite comfy back there…" Demoman's comment causes Sean to bristle, and he shoots the man a withering glare as he approaches us from the van.

"Whatcha sayin', punk?" Sean puts on his thickest Bostonian brogue, and it's quite charming that he things it makes him seem intimidating.

"Ach, nothing, lad! Just making conversation." Demoman chuckles before winking at Sean and then giving me a sloppy smirk.

I motion for Sean to stay where he is and follow Demoman, putting a companionable arm around his shoulders. "_Monsieur_, I comforted him for a night after he struck out." My voice is low, soft and- above all- confidential. "He cried on my shoulder, and I patted his back while telling him how handsome he was. You have to understand that his wounds are still tender… let them at least heal before you tear into him about something so demeaning, hm?" I suggest, patting his shoulder before slipping away and heading for our new base.

I hear the Scot let out a deep breath and perhaps even sniffle a little.

The lock on the door isn't hard to pick at all, and I turn on the lights, listening to the hum for a moment while taking in my surroundings. I'm not sure if the enemy has already taken residence in their own base, and there's plenty of ways to get into ours from theirs. Their Spy may already be here. I see scorch marks on one of the walls and run a gloved finger across them. They're fresh.

My feet quickly backtrack to wait at the door. Of course our Pyro arrived before we did, it probably came with the rest of our belongings. Just another piece of luggage.

"Spy, why are you waiting here?" Sniper asks, coming up behind me. Sean punches my arm on his way past and I frown at his back.

"Ain't too grateful, now, is he?" Demoman comments disapprovingly as he watches the young man stalk into the base.

"Pyro is already here…" That should be an explanation enough for why I am not advancing, but Sniper just laughs and pats my shoulder on his way in. Sean is already proceeding into the bowels of the base. I tag along, feeling rather pathetic that I'm terrified of a man that Sean has no fear for.

"Hey, Py, where you at?" He calls, zipping around, flicking on lights in rooms and running around them a few times before zipping back out and running to the next one. I allow them to lead, as I have absolutely _no interest what so ever_ in meeting the little fire monger. The rest of our teammates trickle in, some joining Sean in his exploration of the various closets and storage rooms.

I finally come to the room with our beds in it and find that there is a closet provided next to each set of double bunk beds on either side. I hang my still-clean suits in it and walk over to examine the trunks piled in the corner. After identifying my own, I drag it over to my bed and begin filing away my personal items.

"I call bottom!" Sean announces to the otherwise empty room, plopping on one of the bottom beds.

"You would." I tease him, smirking as I continue with my task. He gives me one of his little glares and I smirk in response. "You're really going to make me climb up to the top of the bunk every night?" I ask, pouting and reaching over to stroke his cheek imploringly. I can only assume that the rest of the team is in the middle of looking through the rest of the base.

"Hey, fuck off. Who even says I'm sharing a bunk with you?" He shoves my hand away, and I frown, withdrawing as if I have been burned. Something in his expression changes and he takes a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry… I'm just still kind of pissed, alright?" He sits up and crosses his legs, not even bothering to kick his shoes off.

"Sean…" I take a deep breath, wondering how I can soothe this without actually giving in to him. Now that we are back on company property, I shouldn't be referencing anything that happened off base. If there aren't cameras in these rooms, then there are probably at least microphones about. "I promise, someday, I will tell you. Right now, though…" I pause and shake my head. "Right now is not the best _place_ to discuss this." I try to hint at what I want to say, but he just clenches his jaw and takes a deep breath.

He lets out the entire breath on the word, "well…" When he hesitates, I lean forward to kiss his nose, then press my lips to his lightly. "… fuck, _fine_, I guess you can have the bottom… but I wanna switch sometimes, got that?"

"I'm sure something can be arranged." I tell him, feeling a rush of relief at his acceptance of my terms. I stroke his cheek and allow my fingertips to linger on his jaw before returning to putting my things away.

His hand smacks my ass as he climbs over my bed instead of going around the end and jogs off to locate his own trunk. I smirk at him across my new bed when he starts putting his own articles away; he looks unenthused by our new arrangements.

"Goddamn, why do they have to have closets instead of dressers?" He grumbles, pulling out crumpled shirts and pants that had previously been stuffed carelessly into drawers at our previous base.

"Because only children stuff their clothing into drawers without the thought to fold it, or hang it." I reply. It earns me a glare and a stony silence that is sure to last until he thinks of something clever to say. However, instead of saying anything, he just flips his bag over and dumps his clothes at the bottom of the closet before forcing the door shut.

"There. Perfect."

I sigh heavily.

* * *

The first two days at our base, I don't even sleep in my bed. I spend most of it over at the other team's base, refamiliarizing myself with the layout, locations of medical supplies, and lucky corners where a Pyro might be less likely to set me on fire.

After surviving at this base for a year sans respawn, this mission seems almost trivial. I sometimes find myself resting a hand on the wall, or pausing on a step as I remember all my fallen comrades. Most of them I didn't even bother getting close to, but there were two or three whose memories I held almost fondly.

I also use the time to learn about our opponents, their mannerisms and preparedness, experience and ability to work as a team. They're quite skilled. Half way through my second day of observation, they realize that there is a presence around them, and, after that, I spend most of my time avoiding buckshot and flames.

Once I have determined that there is nothing more to be done without dying prior to the first battle, I return to my base, not daring to uncloak until I am safe in the living quarters. I'm not as paranoid about their Spy now- I saw him around their base. He's very friendly with his team—chatty even. He's probably young and moderately skilled—not a threat yet. It's quite disheartening when I'm the last of a retiring breed of Spy.

Sean catches sight of me coming into the living quarters from the base, and his expression changes to one that is slightly guarded. He slowly walks forward to greet me, and I raise a brow at his sedate pace. He stops in front of me, and I reach out my hand to touch his hair.

"You've been gone for forever." He tells me, raising his hand to grip my wrist before walking forward to hug me.

"It was two days." I tell him, chuckling softly, and hugging him back. The hug doesn't last long, but it tells us all that we need to know: he missed me; I missed him; he was worried; I'm fine.

"Yeah, for-fucking-ever." He reiterates with a small frown.

We walk down the hall in silence, him fidgeting and biting his nails while I carefully remove my gloves and tuck them into my jacket pocket. I didn't get much sleep at all while I was at the enemy base, and I know that I will have to give Sean more attention at some point, but right now all I want is a shower and a warm mattress. He hovers over me as I retrieve pants and underwear as well as a clean mask from my closet, and he even begins to follow me out into the hall and toward the shower rooms before realizing my intentions and staying in the bunkroom for propriety's sake.

The door to the shower room locks, thankfully, and I am allowed to remove my mask before washing off the grime of two days and nights in the enemy base. I begin to wish that Sean had come with me, if only to be in his company. Truth be told, after spending so much time with him over the past week, not to mention the past half year… I have become generally used to having him around.

It isn't until I'm clean and returning to the bunk rooms that I realize how sore and stiff I am from my excursion into the enemy territory. Flopping down unceremoniously has never been a way in which I have gone to bed, but the maneuver that I display upon reaching the bunk room is characteristic of the movement, and possibly as close to it as I shall ever get.

Hands touch my back, but they're familiar and welcome: warm palms roughened by athletic tape, and firm fingers that knead and stroke my tired muscles into laxness. I hear him mutter something, but I can't really tell what he had said.

"Hm?" I ask, reluctantly rolling over so that I can watch him perch on the edge of my bed and fidget with his hands in his lap.

"I said 'I'm sorry…' " he says, kicking off his shoes before bringing one of his legs up with a sigh. "For, y'know… getting jealous of that asshat and about the name thing. I shouldn't have acted like a prick."

"Oh… yes, well… you shouldn't have." I agree, wondering where this had come from. He seems to see it in my expression, because he sighs and rests one of his fidgeting hands on my leg.

"I thought that's why you were gone… like avoiding me or something." He admits, chewing on his bottom lip and staring back at me with those big grey eyes.

"_Petit_… I w—" but the door opens and he jerks away from my outstretched hand, scrambling up onto his own bed and out of sight.

"So good of you to join us, Spy!" Medic says as he enters the bunk rooms. I hear the snap of gloves and the heavy settling of a lab coat being thrown across a bed, but I'm too apathetic of the German's whereabouts to look away from the slight weight bending the mattress above me.

"_Oui_." I agree, closing my eyes and shifting so that I am lying upon my mattress fully.

"… so, what did you find?" I hear him approach our bunk, and his weight settles on the mattress directly to the left of my own.

"Their Pyro has a sixth-sense for Spies… their Medic and Heavy don't seem all that close. However, on the battlefield, things might be different." I pause and think of other relevant tidbits that I can feed the German before I allow sleep to claim me. "Their Spy is relatively new to his position, perhaps two or three years old, at most…" now for something that will make him go away. "Oh, and their Medic is leaps and bounds ahead of you on your thesis concerning the debilitating effects of Respawning in an unfamiliar location."

He huffs, and I can imagine that he's adjusting his glasses—one of his relatively few nervous habits. "Well, then, I will just have to take my research to a new level tomorrow, won't I?" I hear the bed creak as he stands and the heavy thud of jackboots as he moves away. The door to the bunks slams closed, and I smirk.

I roll so that I can untuck my covers and settle into my bed. The pillow smells like fresh linen, and it takes me several seconds to realize that I had expected Sean to sleep in my bed while I was away. The mattress above me shifts, and I reach up to push at it with the heel of my hand.

"What?" Sean doesn't hang down to look at me like I expect him to.

"He's gone; do you want to cuddle with me?"

"No."

I frown at the mattress above me and reach up to push on it again.

"Seriously, _what_?"

"Sean… a minute ago you were apologizing to me." I remind him, pushing against his mattress again. If I annoy him enough, he might break and tell me what's wrong _now._

"Yeah, because I couldn't be mad at you if you had a reason to be mad at me."

"What if I had a reason and then just forgave you?" I ask, rolling my eyes and shifting to get more comfortable, since there was no reason to make room for cuddling Sean. There's only silence above me, and I finally close my eyes. Oh well, there's plenty of time to get back on his good side.

* * *

Our first battle is today, and Sean still isn't talking to me.

"Sup, Spy?"

_Wasn't_ talking to me.

"_Bonjour_, Scout…" I watch him sit across from me at the table with a heaping plate of breakfast. My tea is still piping hot, so I stir it to distract myself from staring at him across the table. As much as I don't want to admit it, I have missed him these past few days. He's supposed to be the needy little brat, not me.

I suppose that I had expected to be able to make up for the time that I was gone—spying on the other team—when I returned. Assuming has never gotten me into such a precarious place before, however.

I stand, taking my tea to the common room.

"Hey, wait up!"

I sigh dramatically as he follows and speed up my pace for appearances' sake.

"Hey, I'm talkin' here!"

As soon as we reach the common room, I grab his collar and push him against the wall, pressing my mouth to his. Instead of fighting my kiss, I feel his lips turn up in a grin. Pulling back, my eyes narrow and I silently demand an explanation as he puts on an obviously forced scowl. I slap his cheek lightly and he immediately snaps out of the stern expression with a snicker.

"Alright, alright… So the reason I've been avoiding you since you got back is… we were kind of pissed at each other when we left town, and I was mad when you left without telling me, and we've never had fucking make up sex before—"

I cut him off with a hand over his mouth. "Make up sex? Really, Sean?" I glower at him, and he smiles against my hand, pushing his hips out to brush against my own. He has been stringing me along for the past thirty-six hours all so he could—

I take a deep breath and slip my hand from his mouth. "You will have to be angry at me. Think of all the injustices I have committed throughout our relationship and dwell on them during the battle." He frowns, looking as if he is having trouble coming up with any. "I won't tell you my name; I eyed your mother's ass; I think that you belong on the bottom of our relationship; I will have sex with someone else as soon as your back is turned- possibly even your mother." I list for him, watching his brows drop with each new addition.

"You're an asshole."

"Indeed. Meet me in the closet next to the respawn room after battle." I grin and tenderly run my fingers along the curve of his jaw. He swats my hand away and pushes me off of him so that he can storm off. A curse leaves my mouth as tea sloshes onto my shoes just as a voice blares over the speakers that our battle will start in sixty seconds. I glare at his triumphant smirk over his shoulder and make a rude hand gesture before setting my tea down on the nearest flat surface and going back to our bunk rooms to change my shoes quickly.

I check my equipment on the way to our respawn room: Cloak and Dagger, Ambassador and full cigarette case… I remove one and light it as I enter the crowded room. We are sectioned off from the battlefield by a glass panel that hasn't been closed until just last night. Medic is already training his medigun on Heavy and Soldier yells battle plans at the top of his lungs, as if we might have forgotten them from the previous night's "briefing."

I take a deep breath and let it out. Respawning somewhere new is always an unpleasant experience. Engineer explained it to me once when I first joined this particular team, but I was in the middle of biting my tongue against a splitting headache and choking back the bile climbing my throat. Something about frequencies and other scientific nonsense springs to mind, but I don't care how it works as long as it brings me back. A voice in the back of my head adds _to Sean_, but I ignore it blatantly.

The countdown reaches zero and the glass door slides open.

Yells resound around me, and I cloak before walking through the shutter cutting off our respawn room from the battlements. I stand, invisibly surveying the field below me. The enemy team is already making their way across the field, there is the slosh of water beneath the bridge as someone tramples through it, no doubt trying to sneak into our base by a less-known route. I see Sean jump from the bridge to the battlements in time for the enemy Sniper to stab him through with his knife. A grimace crosses my lips as I watch Sean's body go limp and slip from the bloody blade. The Sniper kicks his body off the edge, but his body disappears with respawn moments before his lifeless body crunches against the ground. I feel anger flare at the treatment and then feel a certain disgust for what this relationship has done to me. There was no reason to be angry—Sean was going to come back in seconds. The disrespect to his dead body—while uncalled for—was merely the treatment of an enemy.

The shutter opens and I hear the quick tapping of Scout feet. A shoulder hits me from behind as Sean leaps the incredible distance from the battlements to the top of the bridge, and I see him turn to grin at my silhouette. There's the familiar crack of a rifle… and then darkness.


	29. Chapter 29

**I personally like listening to 30 Minutes by Tatu when I read this chapter.**

* * *

When I respawn, I replay the last moment in my head: the crack of a rifle, and the grin Sean had given me before I died.

I suddenly remember that I have just respawned and brace myself for the pain and sickness. It doesn't come, only a slight queasiness in the pit of my stomach. Normal, average. My heart thunders as I open my clenched eyes. My skin grows cold and I waver, uncertain of my balance for the barest of moments. My team colors are nowhere to be seen, white and off-white stretch across the walls and pattern the floor.

_Headquarters._

I have heard of this feeling: the notion that my heart has stopped for the briefest of moments, and my stomach is suddenly churning as I realize that I might be sick from emotion rather than an unnatural resurrection. I drop to the bench stretching across the center of the room and duck my head between my knees to avoid anything unpleasant.

Deep breaths are all I can muster, swallowing choking sounds that I would never let leave my throat. I just keep telling myself to take deep breaths and that I will figure this out. They are probably just going to offer me a promotion, or issue me a pink slip, or... Or something.

_Anything_.

I slowly uncurl and sit up straight, still taking deep breaths and trying to keep my bile down.

_Anything but_ _this_.

"_Monsieur_ Spy? If you will come with me, the Administrator had you scheduled last week. However, before we could teleport you…" the soft, high voice is that of Ms. Pauling. I stop listening, or perhaps she stops talking. Either way, the only thing that I can concern myself with is the desperation clenching at my stomach. Choking back a spasm and hiding it by clearing my throat, I take a deep breath and gain the strength to stand.

Her smile contains a tinge of pity and she waits for me to straighten my suit and light a cigarette before beginning to speak again.

I have to be calm, I have to ask why I'm here. I can't assume anything before I know for sure... and I'm not listening to her at all. "I'm sorry, Ms. Pauling, but could you repeat that?" I ask when she stares at me as if waiting for an answer.

"Oh, I was just asking if you were ready to meet with Madam Administrator." She replies with a bright smile that Helen probably abhors.

It's contagious and calms me slightly. I nod, flashing her a suave grin around my cigarette and stepping forward to follow her from the room.

Helen's door is a large slab of mahogany, a brown splash of color in a place otherwise devoid of expression. A gold plate proclaims in bold, black lettering: Administrator.

I take a slow, deep breath as Ms. Pauling knocks. Dear God, my hands are shaking. I clasp them behind my back, straightening my posture and forcing back the feelings welling up inside me.

"Come in." Her voice has been ravaged by cigarettes, and her hate for humanity bleeds through into her tone.

"Good luck." Ms. Pauling whispers to me before opening the door and holding it for me. She closes it as soon as I have entered and stands beside it, pen scratching at her clipboard to fill the silence.

I smile as I enter, self-possessed, completely aware of myself—_in control_.

"Ah, Spy, so good of you to finally join me." Helen doesn't even turn her chair from the screens. One of them has an angle on the respawn room, and I have a sneaking suspicion that she saw my little episode before Ms. Pauling interrupted me.

"Thank you for your patience, madam... respawn is still an unpleasant experience for me." I lie with the utmost skill, but I see her shoulders shake with a mirthless cackle.

"If that's what you want to call it." She snorts and presses a button that switches off the myriad of screens before her. "Ms. Pauling tells me that you have rethought your previous decision to transfer." She shifts the papers on her desk and I see my handwriting on several of the sheaves.

"Your original request states, and I quote: 'This team's Scout is a miserable little twat.' " She smirks up at me. "What changed in the last eight months?"

My mind races, and as I take a slow breath, I know that I must answer these questions infallibly. If she senses even the slightest _emotion_ in my response, she will not let me go back. I will never see Sean again.

I take my time in seating myself in the straight-backed chair placed before her desk and cross my legs with the air of one who has gone out of his way to become complacent. "Well, _Madame_ Administrator… I know how long the bureaucracy takes, so I worked around my problems with our Scout. He and I have settled our differences somewhat, and have come to an agreement—"

"Oh, stop bullshitting me, I know that you two are screwing like spring hares." She rolls her eyes and taps her cigarette out in the ashtray on her desk. My cigarette almost falls from my lips in my surprise, but I clamp down on it, my lips a terse line fighting against all the words that want to come out.

"How prudent…" I finally muster, knowing that I have let the silence stew for too long. I remove my cigarette and let out a contemplating stream of smoke. It is hard to play a game when your opponent most likely knows all of your cards. It's harder to bluff, harder to lie, and impossible to win. "He doesn't interfere with my performance on the battlefield… I'm not sure why this fling is any different from my past escapades with my teammates." A sudden lie occurs to me, and I latch onto it. "It was the only way I could get him to behave like a human being. Otherwise, he was just a little asshole when in my presence."

"So he means nothing to you?" She asks. There is a glint in her eyes telling me she knows otherwise.

I press on, regardless. "Of course. My first loyalty is to the company. Say the word and he is meaningless." That feeling in my stomach… it's desperation… I make certain that it can't be heard in my voice. Even though all is lost, I still try. I have to.

"So these are what? Spectacular acting—an elaborate farce for his benefit and your own peace of mind?" Her lips twist in a sneer and she shifts in her chair to pull out a folder from beneath her desk. She flips it open and thumbs through a few pages before tossing a picture before me.

I don't even look at it, raising a brow at her with a disbelieving look. "Are we really doing this, Helen? You think that I, of all people, would jeopardize my contract? For a whelp?"

"I know that you have _feelings_ for this whelp. I know everything about your little tawdry relationship, and I know that you might have finally found a lover that can stand your tenuous outbursts of denial and self-loathing." She rolls her eyes and taps the picture with her long nails.

I finally allow my eyes to descend and see a picture of Sean and myself, locked in a kiss far too passionate for any of my denials. Only fools admit defeat.

"That is circumstantial, I am in complete," she places another picture next to the first—Sean and I in the park, smiling and walking comfortably together. I press on, regardless, "control," another photo hits the table, a dinner date, "of my emotions." To my credit, my voice didn't waver until the last word of my sentence.

"Yes, this really seems like a man in control of his emotions." She scoffs and tosses another photo across the table. I am a spy, adept at lying and manipulating and conniving… but Helen is used to dealing with my sort. She knows how to get to us. She knows how to break me. I stop the photo with my middle and forefinger and look down at it.

A sickening feeling hits my stomach like a sucker punch. Sean and I are walking down the street, leaning close to hear each other speak. His hands are hovering mid-motion, and he has the stupidest grin on his face. My expression is what hits me the hardest, though: there is a half-smile on my face, like there is no place that I would rather be, my eyes are half-lidded and there's something so serene about my expression that I lose myself in the moment. I'm brought back when Helen clears her throat and stares at me hard.

"You do, of course, see the predicament that I am in." A smile crosses her lips, but I know that it isn't there for humor. She's waiting, seeing what I will do. "I don't want you having your midlife crisis on one of my bases." I don't bother objecting, part of me latching onto the excuse. The part of me that still wasn't sure what all this bullshit with Sean was.

"I will resolve it, if you send me back." My mouth is dry, and I wonder of my voice sounds as weak aloud as it does to my own ears. It's like thin paper, easy to tear with the slightest pressure.

"No, I don't think you will... Moreover, even if you did, you wouldn't be able to work together. I know our little—" she glances at the folder before her, "Sean, is it?—is a petty little thing. You won't be able to be a team after," she uses her long, thin fingers for air quotes, " 'resolving' our problem."

I stare at her, hoping that my face is as blank as I am trying to make it. There's no hope now. "I hope that this was not the only reason that you brought me here." I stub out my cigarette in her ashtray, but I already need another one. It would be considered a sign of weakness, though, and I can't afford to let her see how much this has affected me. I have to lock away everything; outward emotion will just tempt her to hit me harder.

She smiles craftily, seemingly satisfied with my emotionless front. "Your contract expires in one week. I would like to offer you a final posting as a consultant in our training team on a five-year contract. After this last contract, you will be offered a retirement package in the form of a pension as well as other benefits to be discussed upon acceptance." She sweeps her hand across the table, gathering all the surveillance photos except a last one I don't recall seeing her place down.

"I will have to think before I can make my choice." I reply, my mind already racing to figure out how to explain myself in a letter to Sean. If I accepted, I would have the clearance necessary to check up on Sean whenever I like: performance, stationing, personal contact information.

"I'm glad that you are willing to consider it." Helen stows the photos in the file and steeples her fingers. "Now then, back to the pleasantries. You will have no further contact with that Scout. Do I make myself clear? There is a clause in every contract that we, as a company, are not responsible for any malfunction of the respawn systems... Do tread carefully." Her smile brings bile to the back of my throat, and her words make my heart spasm.

"Of course." I nod and slowly draw out my cigarette case so that I can casually light a desperately needed cigarette. "Now, then, if we are done here, I would like to have a room assigned to me so that I can think over your offer in peace."

"Room twenty is open, collect the keys from Ms. Pauling..." she flutters her fingers at the door and I stand to leave. "Oh, _Jaque_..." I turn with the least condescending expression I can manage. "Would you like to keep this photo? It's a great catch..." her lips are curled in a chescher smile. In that moment, I decide what my answer will be.

I want that picture more than anything. I can't so much as send a letter to Sean right now without risking his life.

I look at it, the flash of his teeth, the messiness of his hair, a hand hovering near mine, but not quite daring to touch; I attempt to memorize every detail of Sean in an adequate amount of time for me to do that hardest thing I have ever done for Sean. This will be the last time that I see him, she will try to make sure of that. I want that picture more than anything in the world.

"No." the word sounds hollow and I summon forth a scoff before saying it with a little more conviction. "No, thank you, but I don't keep trophies after failed experiments…"

She simpers and withdraws the picture, slipping it back into the folder. She thinks she still has me, but I will spend the remainder of my contract plotting instead of thinking over her offer. There has to be a way to get through to Sean.

* * *

I lay in bed every night for the next five days wondering how I can work this out. My equipment has been taken, black suits and masks provided to me. A deck of cards and however many packs of cigarettes I need. Platitudes as Helen waits for my acceptance. They will most certainly watch me for at least a month after I have left the company, but there is a limit to their stubbornness and the resources that they will be willing to utilize in order to strong-arm it. After that, though… I will be free to search for him, his mother, his brothers… anyone I can use to get back to Sean.

I haven't touched the suits, preferring to sit around in my underwear and consider everything from a logical perspective sharpened by game after game of solitaire. Every morning at exactly nine o'clock, breakfast is brought to my room, and every night at six, I have dinner. The young man who brings me my meals is nonplussed about my lack of modesty, and I tip him for each meal. Silly American customs.

He is the only human contact that I have had in the past few days, and it is making me antsy. I'm surprised Helen hasn't demanded an answer of me yet, but I'm willing to wait her out until she calls for me. Our original game is over, but I still have resistance left in me. They are taking away the one thing that I have cared about in a very long time. I can be as petty as I like.

I turn my head when there is a knock on my door, but a sigh is all I can muster before turning my eyes up to the ceiling again. It takes a long moment, but the door eventually creaks open, and I hear steps approach my bed. The young man with my breakfast tray comes in and sets it on the desk next to my current, half-finished game of cards on the desk.

When he doesn't leave immediately, I open my eyes and sit up, reaching for a cigarette before I have even completed the motion. "Yes?" I ask, barely giving him a glance.

"Madam Administrator would like to see you in her office… she asks that you clothe yourself prior to coming… and wear a black mask instead of your team color— as was provided." He adds, looking intensely uncomfortable giving me orders, even if they _are_ from a much higher power.

Our previous conversations have consisted of alerting me that my food has arrived, and, on my part, asking for more cigarettes. Generally, I would attempt to be more genial, but the entire situation seems to have sapped any measure of social decorum from me.

"Thank you." I tell him, placing my cigarette in the ashtray on my bedside table and standing from my bed. "I will be there an hour from now."

"Yes, sir." He sticks his hand in his pocket and pulls a piece of paper out. "I found this number when I went through your equipment. I thought it might be important."

I frown, not recognizing the paper as anything of mine.

"It was ripped, so I copied it onto a new piece of paper." He explains, handing it to me when I hold out my hand.

I study it for a moment before realizing what it is. "Thank you." I tell him, feeling my face soften as I finally look at the man for the first time.

He sees that he finally has my attention and looks a little surprised before giving me a nod. "Glad to be of service." With that, he turns and walks out of my room.

I am left standing in my underwear with a piece of paper in my hand, and the most I can do is try to keep the grin from my face. I memorize the number quickly before placing it in my ashtray and touching the smoldering end of my cigarette to it. It burns through, and the careful penning is soon unreadable. Stubbing out my cigarette on the black marked paper, I turn to scoop up a piece of toast and take a few bites before moving to the attached bathroom and turning on the shower.

It has been a long time since I have worn a black suit. I almost forgot how distinguished it makes me look. I reluctantly finger my old mask, remembering how it felt when Sean yanked it off almost every day of our relationship after he got the initial glimpse of my face. My chest constricts at the memories held in its threads, and I fold it carefully before tossing it in the trash can on my way out.

Getting through Headquarters alone is, as always, a trial. With the growth of the company, the building is twice as large, and I have half the luck navigating it. There are signs everywhere, of course, but there are so many of them that I am often left standing in the middle of the hallway and staring up at the black, backlit swathes of plastic.

I manage to only bump into two people on the way to Helen's office. One has hands full of paperwork and seems in no way eager to stop and direct me, but the second is Ms. Pauling herself.

"_Pardon_, but could you direct me to the Administrator's office?" I ask, smiling and resting an ungloved hand on her arm.

"… Spy?" She looks pensive, and I watch her eyes flicker over my face. It doesn't matter. In another six hours, I won't even be in the facility. After putting twenty years into this career, it's time to disappear.

Finally.

I nod and she takes a deep, unsatisfied breath before turning back the way she had come.

"Follow me." Her voice is small in the empty vastness of the hallways, and I wonder how such a mousy young woman can possibly put up with having Helen as a supervisor. Ahead, the mahogany door looms. "I'm sure you can find your way from here." She tells me, adjusting her glasses a she looks up at me with an encouraging smile.

"Yes, thank you." I reply, taking her hand and pressing a chivalrous kiss to her knuckles. "_Au revoir_." I tell her before slipping away.

A soft, "_bonne chance_," follows me to the door.

I don't stop to take a reassuring breath, pause to collect my thoughts, or even think about the ramifications of what I am about to do. Instead, I open the door and stride forward to stand at attention in front of Helen's desk. Her chair back faces the door, initially, but she swivels around upon my entrance. With a raised brow, and a resigned drag on her cigarette, she stubs it out before folding her hands on her desk and looking at me pointedly.

"I take it your refusal to wear your mask onsite is a 'no'?" She asks, pursing her lips and slowly leaning back in her chair.

"You are correct." I reply, locking my hands behind my back and keeping my chin up.

"Hm…" if Helen is any more disappointed than the norm, she hides it well. A file slides across the desk, and I reach out to stop it before it slips off of the edge. "This is your final paperwork. Sign where it's warranted, go pack up your personal effects, and then get out of my facility."

"Of course, _Madame_ Administrator…" I chuckle and flip through the papers full of legal jargon. I skim every word of it, granting them permission to kill me if I breach the terms of my original contract—I cannot talk about the technological advances I have witnessed, or reveal anything about our little "war" to the outside world. After I have signed, I take a deep breath and smile.

"I trust that you will contact me if you reconsider your position." She flicks her wrist at me as permission to leave.

"Of course. Thank you for your support over the past years, I hope that this whole—"

"Spy, get out of my office."

I chuckle and smile before turning on my heel and exiting the office.

* * *

**-clears throat- I'll just be over here... -points before scuttling off-**


	30. The End, Indeed

**Author's Note at the end.**

* * *

"How many days has it been, Ms. Pauling?"

"Ma'am?"

"_Monsieur_ 'Jaque.' "

"Oh… um… five."

"Good, freeze all of his aliases and put out a few hits—just in case our contract wasn't clear."

"… yes ma'am."

* * *

My plane touches down in France at around one in the morning and, though it is still early evening back in the States, I am exhausted. As soon as I reach the nearest hotel, I scratch down the number from the paper. I don't have a lot of time to complete my disappearing act, perhaps a week at most, but I can begin work when I can think logically.

I don't even bother unpacking my bag or fully undressing. I merely shed my soaked overcoat and damp trousers before slipping under the warm, heavy covers and falling into a jet-lag induced stupor. When I awake, it is to the trill of my room's phone, and I ignore it for some time before it cuts off. It begins ringing once again seconds later.

"_Bonjour_?" My voice, logged with sleep and rough from choked emotion, sounds foreign to my ears. I clear my throat as I sit up and loosen my tie. I place it on the bedside table as I listen to the uppity receptionist telling me that I asked for a wakeup call to be placed twelve hours after my arrival. A glance at the curtained window in my room shows a streak of grey light cutting through the heavy drapes. It is muted, likely still raining. "_Merci beaucoup_," I murmur before hanging up.

I don't feel like talking to anyone.

Unfortunately, that is all that I will be doing today. First, though… I turn my eyes to the pad of paper next to the phone.

First I must call Sean's friend. I don't remember her name, I was too busy searching for something useful. Useful for what… I'm not even sure anymore.

How did I not see this coming?

I put the thought out of my head as the phone begins to drone out a ringing tone.

"Yeah?"

Typical American rudeness... it shouldn't surprise me anymore. "Hello, _mademoiselle_, may I speak to the lady of the house?"

"… speakin'…" she sounds confused and guarded.

"Ah, hello, my name is Jaque, and I was wondering if you might be able to help, I'm looking for a young man named Sean."

There is silence, and only the absence of a blaring tone in my ear tells me that she is still on the line. "What d'you want?" She asks, clear suspicion lacing her voice. "You a debt collector or something?" If I do not hook her in soon, she will hang up on me, and will be unlikely to answer my call again.

"No, I'm not."

"Cop?"

"No."

"Y'know, it's illegal to lie about that, right?" Her interest is fading, and I allow a shred of irritation through into my tone.

"Madam, would a cop have a French accent and be calling you from an international phone number?" I ask, beginning to wish I had planned better for this call.

She sighs. "Sean hasn't written me in almost a year. I don't know anything about contacting him… he probably moved and forgot to tell me about it. Sorry I can't help."

No, I need something from this contact. "I would appreciate help locating his mother, then. We have met before, however, she does not know me by my name." I chuckle in a self-depreciating manner. "If Sean has told you anything about his work, then you understand we were not on a first-name basis with any—"

"The bitch and I don't get along."

I bristle at her disrespect, but force my tone to stay genial. "Alright, well, if you have her phone number, then I will stop wasting your time…"

"I ain't telling you shit, I may not like the witch, but—"

I alter my approach abruptly, clearing my throat indignantly and causing her pause. "I'm just trying to get in touch with an old friend. He's very dear to me… surely you must know the pain of a lost friendship."

She sighs and I hear shuffling on the line.

"A number, a name, and address—anything would be more than I have… we didn't part on a particularly friendly note." I wince at the remembrance of my parting comments. I would never want my last words to be something so… lewd and unloving.

"Alright, I'll give you her number. If she asks, you never spoke t'me."

"Thank you."

* * *

I run my hands through my hair as I sit on the edge of my hotel room bed. Had I ever told Sean how much I enjoyed the feel of his hands running through it? Or when he would tug at it in the middle of sex? Or when I had been snarky and he too tired to hit me, so he would just tug at it?

What had I ever really told Sean? All I had done was answer a myriad of questions, said a few "I love you"s, taught him how to behave. I hadn't told him enough. Perhaps it's because I didn't know that he had affected me this badly at the time, but I never thought that I might regret not revealing myself to a lover. I never should have gotten so attached.

I dream about him, wish he were here, ache for his voice; his grin; his hair pressed against my jaw; his hand against my own; him.

"Should I leave?" A hand touches my back—small, soft, feminine. Not the one I crave.

"I think it would be best." I agree, reaching back to rest my palm over the back of her hand. "I am sorry." I should be angry, ashamed, disappointed. All I feel, though, is emptiness.

"It's alright…" she collects her clothes from the floor, righting herself on her way to the door, following the trail. She pauses at the door and looks back at me as I retrieve a cigarette from the pack on the bedside table. "Was it… was it me, or…?"

I lie, shaking my head and giving her an awkward smile around my cigarette before lighting it. "No," I let out a breath of smoke and meet her eyes, "it has happened before—just another part of aging, I'm afraid. Thank you for your time, my dear."

As soon as she is gone, I smoke and stare out the window until I see her on the sidewalk. It's been a week since I left TF Industries. I have four new identities, all created by separate entrepreneurs to prevent more than one being compromised at a time. I successfully transferred the majority of my total earnings into several bank accounts around the world. The rest was utilized in the process of disappearing, but I will still live comfortably despite my sacrifice.

I will live alone, sexually frustrated and emotionally unfulfilled. Nothing like I had hoped when I originally thought of my retirement. I never much cared about the first or third drawbacks, but the second… I have never had issues performing before, and now…

"Stupid boy," I growl, tapping out my cigarette. I wasn't even half way through, but the smoke leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I have to leave this place. I have to go walk, I have to interact, do something.

I might go insane if I sit still.

* * *

It has been a little over two months. I haven't been eating well, but I can occasionally force myself to have at least one full meal. For the past week, I have been living out of a hotel room in New York. Before I finally found a place I could stand sleeping in for more than a night, I travelled around Europe. Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom… I couldn't stay put. I felt too restless.

I don't dare travel to Boston yet. It's too close for comfort, and TF Industries might still be looking out for me there. Another month… another month and I will attempt contact. Using Ma's phone number made it easy to get an address. Now I just have to lay low a bit longer.

It feels natural to be restless in a city such as this. The hustle and bustle of the American metropolis sweeps me up instead of fighting against me. I feel at ease for now.

It's subtle, a brush against my side. Normal contact for a busy New York City street, but his hand catches in my pocket, and I hear a curse. My hand closes on thin air when I grab for the hand that infiltrated my pocket, and I see a lithe body darting through the crowd. He runs into people and gets stopped fairly easily. He doesn't seek the holes that already exist in the crowd and move through those instead—he just plows straight through.

I take the easier route; it's the only way to catch up to him. He turns down an alley, no doubt planning to scale the fence at the end and escape that way. I catch his arm as he turns, however, and slam him against the wall. My wallet falls to the ground and I scoop it up, ignoring the scrawny young man for the moment.

"Faggot can run, huh?" He sneers at me and I look up from brushing off my wallet to glance at him. Blonde hair, blue eyes, tall and skinny with horse-like teeth. I see his eyes drop to take me all in, and feel something familiar course through me.

Seizing the feeling, I grab the front of his shirt and jerk him forward, pressing my lips to his. He goes lax before tensing, and I let go of his shirt, shoving him back with a sneer.

"What the flying _fuck_ was that?" He makes a show of spitting and I chuckle.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" My voice is low, predatory—barely a hiss in the sanctuary of the alleyway. "You could feel my body against yours, my lips, taste my cigarettes." I smirk at him and he spits at me.

"You're crazy, man." He takes a step back and turns to begin running down the alley.

"And you are _afraid_!" I call after him, clenching my fist by my side. What am I doing? Why did I do that? Just because I felt… what was it? Longing? Need?

"What the _fuck_ did you just say?" A blonde rocket comes hurtling at me and a fist hits my jaw.

I barely block his next strike and push him back against the wall, pinning him with my weight. Our faces are centimeters away and I smirk at his surprised expression. "You are afraid. You are afraid to enjoy this…" I press my body more firmly against his. "You are afraid of this…" I breathe warm breath against his ear and his struggling slackens. "You are also… afraid of this…" I kiss his lips, releasing him from the wall as soon as he starts kissing me back.

One of his hands twines through my hair, the other grasping my sleeve as my own arms wrap around his waist. It doesn't last long—I can't allow it to, we are in too public a place. He seems to realize this as I pull back, and he stumbles away, looking scared indeed.

"Accompany me to my hotel room." I tell him, running a hand through my hair and feeling a real smile for the first time in months.

He stares at me, his mouth hanging open in surprise. "I… just fucking punched you, and now you wanna…? The fuck is wrong with you?"

"I'm a glutton for punishment." I shrug and touch a hand to my aching jaw. "I've been hit harder for more petty reasons." I wink at him. "I might even buy you lunch first."

He smiles a little and touches his lips. Once he realizes what his hand is doing, he jerks his fingers away and glares at me. "Lunch first." He confirms, crossing his arms.

"Fine, but it will be in my room. I refuse to dine with you in such… desolate clothing." I tell him before turning back the way I had come. I hear his footsteps following me and smile a little to myself. "Think about stealing my wallet again and I shall cancel our date with a knife..."

"Yeah, yeah, no touchin' the wallet. Whatever."

We walk in silence to my room. A weight shifts in the pit of my stomach, but I ignore it.

It gets me places, indeed.

* * *

When I wake up in the mornings, the curtains across the glass door to our balcony block out the sun and hide the blonde hair; I can convince myself that it's brown for a few minutes before I remember where I am and who I'm with. In the dimness, his eyes are light enough to reflect light, and I tell myself that they are grey and not blue; it works for a time, but I don't think I ever really believe that it's my Scout staring back at me. They use the same American vernacular, but the New Yorker accent has subtle differences from Bostonian in pronunciation. I have made it a point to let him know that I don't mind being insulted, either in erotic circumstances or just for familiarity; it reminds me of him even more...

He calls me Pierre—the alias that I am currently using— instead of Spy. I sometimes wish that he would call me by my former class name…

I had only intended a short fling in the beginning, something to tide me over until I could find a way back to Sean. I thought it would last a night, perhaps two, and then he would go back to his life—whatever it was—and I would continue to mope about my hotel room while occasionally going out for food or distraction.

This is the end of the third week. I am unwilling to ask him to leave, and he follows me around like an overprotective puppy. Perhaps it is the fact that I am an easy meal—we _did_ meet when he pickpocketed me.

I smooth my hand through his hair contemplatively, watching the gold strands shine in the setting sun. We lie on my bed, clothed. His head is on my lap, and I'm pretending to read a book, but I haven't turned a page in the last half hour.

"Who's Sean?"

My stomach drops and I withdraw my hand from his hair to turn my page. "What?"

When I don't put my hand back on his hair, he grabs it and puts it back on his head. I feel the color drain from my face and withdraw my hand again to mark my place in my book. I put it away on the table next to the bed and look at him, crossing my arms.

"Where did you hear that name?" I thought I had put him behind me—filled the hole that he had left in my life.

"You talk in your sleep, you know." He sits up and leans his elbows on his knees. Unlike Sean, he doesn't stutter or pause when he speaks to me. He doesn't blush easily, or grin self-consciously when I complement him. "And sometimes when we fuck you let it slip."

We sit in silence while I digest this information. How had I not caught myself before? Certainly, I cannot control it when I'm asleep, but while we were having sex? I refuse to believe that I've been that lost in the moment before.

"Listen, Pierre, I don't give a shit if you're just using me to replace someone else. The last few weeks have been a fucking blast: my parents probably think I'm rotting in a cell or gutter or something, and the sex is the best I've ever had." He shrugs and sits up straight, crossing his arms. "You look like you're about to tell me to go home…" his expression is disappointed.

I open my mouth to tell him differently, but then close it again. Whenever he gets too personal, whenever he asks too much of me, I tell him to go home. Even I'm not sure if I want him to come back at the end of the day, but by the time the sun goes down, he's opening the door with a bottle of cheap wine and a second-hand paperback book.

"I just wanna know this one thing."

It is a metaphorical punch to the gut.

I finally scrape together a reply, and it is one that I never quite gave Sean. "Alright… come here, and I will tell you." I pat the space on the bed next to me. He crawls forward on his knees to flop into the space and I rest my hand in his hair once again. As I launch into my story of the Scout that made the haughty Spy fall, I wonder if Sean thinks of me anymore. I wonder if he misses me as much as I miss him.

* * *

Three months total have passed since I first entered this new relationship. I have been intending to call Sean's mother for two months, but I just haven't gotten…

I glance at the boy lying beside me, blonde hair sticks up in untidy clumps and an arm covers his eyes against the light filtering through the balcony doors. I smooth my hand through his hair, watching him squirm around to press his face into the pillow.

I haven't gotten the courage. There's always an, "I'll do it tomorrow," or, "I'll do it next week," but I can't put it off any longer. I can't even convince myself that TF Industries will still be watching her house, tapping her line. I have lost the urge to appear in person at all. Now, I will be satisfied with merely a phone call.

Slipping away, I pick up my cigarettes and lighter. On my way out to the balcony, I tuck the rotary phone under my arm and sit on one of the sun warmed chairs.

The phone sits on the table, and I stare at it while I smoke. They won't be watching Sean or Sean's mother anymore. After the end of my cigarette, I pick up the receiver and dial the number I'd memorized months ago.

It rings once before the other end picks up. Ma's voice is cheery, pleasant, kind. I feel my stomach twist horribly as my grief hits me once again. I now wish I had visited in person.

"Ma…" I clear my throat and take a deep breath. "It's me, Spy. We met—"

"I know who you are." Her tone is curious, guarded and a little angry. I wonder just how much Sean told her. Christmas was months ago… I wonder if he got up the courage without me there.

"May I have a moment of your time? How is Sean?"

"How dare you. You have a lot of nerve calling me about my boy!" Her anger is more pronounced now, and I wince at her tone.

I don't bother arguing with her, I don't have the energy or the spirit right now. "Please, I know what I did was horrible…" or she wouldn't be mad at me. "However, there is only one thing I want him to know…"

Silence.

"Can you tell him for me?"

"What is it?" She sounds tired, like I have forced myself into outstaying my welcome. There are so many things that I want to ask her, but I can sense that she doesn't have the patience for my prying. I was many things to Sean, but I can never be any of those things again. I am no longer a Spy—I am a human being. I have to let him know that I have realized that.

I still love you.

I'm so sorry.

"My name is Thierry."

* * *

**This story was an amazing adventure for me. I never expected something so successful to bud from a single one-shot that I posted back in '09. **

**Thank you to everyone for your support, I hope that this three year long ride was as fun for y'all as it was for me! As this is the final chapter, I would like to request that you review or PM me your thoughts about the story. What you liked or didn't like about it and how you think I might be able to better improve my method for the writing of Sean's story. The jury is still out on what the title for it will be, but I can promise that it's going to be a mega cheese-fest like this story's title was, haha.**

**Thank you guys so much once again for encouraging me to continue this story, it never would have gotten finished or even half-way done without all your encouragement! **

**I love you all,**

**Scrunchy**


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